


Making Amends

by theoneandonlylittlebird



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Recovery, Rumbelle Christmas in July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 20:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15396504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlylittlebird/pseuds/theoneandonlylittlebird
Summary: Belle spies a loop-hole in Rumple's attempt to throw her out of the Dark Castle. Once the curse hits, to spite Rumple, Regina curses Belle to be an alcoholic and him her abject failure of a sponsor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imgilmoregirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imgilmoregirl/gifts).



> Hello my very dear @imgilmoregirl! I have loved being your Santa and this has been a joy to write and I humbly hope this will make you happy. Happy Rumbelle Christmas in July!

The Dark Castle:

A day later, Rumplestiltskin stomped into her “room.”

“Go.” His voice was cold.

“What?” Belle couldn't believe she had heard him right.

“I don't want you anymore, dearie.”

That was an obvious lie.

“You’re throwing me out?” Belle still didn't believe a word of it.

“It’s really very simple, my power means more to me than you.” The snide mask of the imp didn't suit the man she now knew existed behind it.

Belle was about to shame him for his lies and leave when inspiration struck. “You are lying. And even if you weren't, you can't throw me out. You owe ME forever.”

“What?” Rumplestiltskin startled visibly.

“It’s forever, dearie,” Belle mocked him, flamboyant gestures and all. “Unless you now casually break deals when they no longer suit you.”

“I release you, your debt is paid. You can go. Now get out.” But that was nothing but a flimsy bluster and Belle could tell she’d hit the mark.

“I don't release you.” Belle stepped forward and pushed a pointing finger into his face, “You owe me forever and you either keep our deal, or I will destroy your reputation. No one will ever make another deal with you again and I’m betting you’d find that inconvenient. More so than keeping faith with me.”

He blinked, shocked, but then recovered. Claw first, he inserted his little finger into his ear and wiggled it around as if to clear a blockage before he leaned down to be right in her face. His tone dripped condescension, “I took care of your little ogre problem as was my end of the deal, I am now deciding that you have paid your end as I intended. I break nothing. Out!”

The last he roared in her face, spittle splatting against her skin. Aside from wrinkling her nose, Belle stood her ground, “Intent is meaningless. Your word was forever and you cannot take it back now. You chose this deal and if it costs you more than you planned, you should have worded it more carefully. I am to care for your rather large estate, forever- you promised me that. That means you can't lock me in a dungeon until I die or shut me out of the castle or send me away or any other nonsense. You keep your word, Rumplestiltskin, or so help me I will publish your lack of integrity for all the Realms to see.”

Belle wasn't leaving, no matter what this oaf did in a fit of scared temper.

He glared at her, clearly seething. “Fine. But don't forget, dearie, that I also specifically stated that I was not looking for love, and so you shall get none from me, if this was how you thought to trick me. You may leave on your own accord or you can stay here and scrub your days away alone. I won't break our deal, but if you do, I won't punish you for it.”

The last he whispered through clenched teeth before he disappeared.

The door to her “room” stood wide open.


	2. Chapter 2

Storybrooke:

Belle didn't know why Granny had frowned at her when she ordered a glass of wine with lunch. She’d be having it with plenty of food and she was walking back to work in an hour anyway. The look was wholly undeserved. 

The wine’s tingly crispness soothed her back into the story she was reading a moment later and Belle ate distractedly as Fortunato descended into the catacomb with Montresor. The anthology of Poe’s perfectly suited the deepening fall chill in the air.

A greasy and empty plate met Belle’s questing fingers when she finally looked up from her reading. At some point in time, she had requested the bottle and it was mostly gone now. Worse than that, across from her sat her boss, quiet and unmoving.

Belle dropped the book clumsily and slurred, “Oh, Graham, didn't see you there. You should have interrupted me! You know how I am in a good book.”

“You were due back at the station half an hour ago and I need to go out on a call. I will take you back there now and when I return, we will discuss this.” Graham jerked a thumb at the lovely green bottle of pinot grigio still sweating in the warm room.

“Oh, there’s no need, I just lost track of time is all. Sorry about that, but you really don't need to worry about me, I can get myself back to the station.” Belle said politely, rising. She hoped she had hidden that wobble, heels had their hazards, after all.

“I paid your bill already, come with me.” Graham cupped her elbow and supported her on their way out the door. With the world just pleasantly fuzzed, Belle noticed vaguely that his assistance was actually helpful.

When Graham came back into the station two hours later, Belle had had sufficient time for the situation to dawn on her. Or rather, to sober up.

“Graham, I owe you a huge apology. I never meant to lose track like that. It won't happen again, I promise!” She shot to her feet upon seeing him. He was well within his rights to fire her on the spot and if he did, she’d never pay Gold the rent on time.

“You’re right, it won’t. It won't because I am suspending you until you have been sober at least a month and you can provide evidence that you are regularly attending meetings. I took the liberty of finding you a sponsor. He will pick you up this evening for your first meeting.”

Belle hadn't interrupted Graham out of pure shock and panic. If she was late again this month, Mr. Gold would evict her. “Graham! Please! If I can't pay the rent, I’m out! Please, I’ll go to the meetings, whatever you want, I’ll never drink again I swear. Besides which, I'm not an alcoholic and I’ll prove it to you easily. But please don't make me homeless!”

“Belle, you are an alcoholic. And admitting that’s the first step. At least I think it is, doesn't matter, they know and they’ll take you through the program.” Graham rubbed the bridge of this nose in fatigue, “But this is the end of the line. I can't keep covering for you being late and hung-over. And now, now I find you daytime drinking in public. You’ve forced my hand. I like you and you’re a great worker, but you can't work at the sheriff’s office and be a drunk. People talk and it doesn't look good.”

Belle couldn't believe this was happening. She was a good person. A responsible person. Sure, she liked some wine to relax after work, but who didn't? No way was she an alcoholic. Not someone like her. But now wasn't the time to argue that point if she wanted to keep her job, a roof over her head. So she swallowed her pride.

“How about a week’s suspension? I’ll go to the meetings and stay away from alcohol all together. If I can go the whole week, will you let me come back to work? Any more than that and I won't have the rent.” Belle kept her voice as steady and rationally contrite as she could manage. Panic could wait.

Graham sighed and turned away for a long moment while Belle’s heart pounded in her ears.

Finally he faced her again, “Fine. You bring me a one week token and you can come back to work.”

Belle heaved a sigh and gasped out, “Thank you! You know how he is-!”

“Don't thank me yet, get your things, I’m taking you to meet your sponsor.”

Graham began walking swiftly back out of the station leaving her to follow.

Yanking her coat on against the fall chill, Belle hustled as best she could on her heels and caught up to him halfway down the block, having long passed the squad car. The urge to demand where he was taking her was almost too strong to stifle, but the better part of valor now seemed like shutting up.

But when, instead of walking past the pawn shop, Graham pulled the door open for her to enter, Belle had to say something.

“What are we doing here?”

“Meeting with your new sponsor.” The answering voice wasn't Graham’s, but rather deep and Scottish.


	3. Chapter 3

The Dark Castle:

Things had changed.

Darkness seemed to creep out of every corner, dimming the rooms, no matter how many times she opened the curtains or how many candles she lit. Like a stinking pall, oppressive, prominent and unrelenting, it seeped into Belle day by day.

She tried singing, but it never took long for her to forget the tune or simply find no joy in it. Where her voice used to resonate with the castle architecture, now it hit flat, dead stonework and seemed to wither and die away unnaturally. The library he gave her had been locked when she had gone there after the first day of work since his attempt to eject her from the Dark Castle. When she returned the following evening, it was gone entirely, just a smooth stone wall with no remnant of what had been.

If he meant to crush her spirit, he would have to try harder than that.

Belle claimed a real room for herself and arranged furnishings to her liking. She carried her own wood for a fire, emptied her own chamber pot and heated her own bathing water. Now she also washed her own clothes with his. The blue dress he had given her never seemed to soil before, but within three days, it needed washing desperately. Fine. she could cope with that. She would sew a new dress for herself out of what fabrics, mostly sheets, she could find. But when she couldn't complete it before her old dress was unwearable, Belle decided on a different course of action.

She appropriated his clothes.

She found that they were not so different in size as all that, so some minor alterations to his waistcoats and breeches served her just fine.

Since he supplied her with a never-ending mountain of soiled things to wash Belle chose her favorites and simply failed to return them.

He would know all about her theft if he bothered to see her.

Which he didn't.

Not at all in the past two weeks. She had hoped that the theft would irritate him enough into demanding his clothing back, but he never bothered.

So Belle continue to scrub and polish and dust and sew and cook for herself. At least he kept the larder stocked, if she had been forced to leave the castle or starve, Belle decided she would consider their deal broken and would do exactly as she had promised. He had probably figured that too.

Belle prepared tea each day in the morning and in the afternoon just as he had requested before, but each day she sat in his great hall alone to drink it.

His spinning wheel went unused. She even had to start dusting it.

Where was he? How would she even know when he was away for a deal? Was he simply avoiding her? Belle had tried to find her way to his tower with the tea at first when he didn't arrive at tea time, but as with the library, it had disappeared.

Belle tried to tell herself she wasn't lonely, that she wasn't sad, that she didn't miss him as if it would never be summer again. But she knew those thoughts were lies.

She missed him terribly and three weeks into her solitude, Belle finally let herself cry into her pillow. If not for the food supply that didn't dwindle, Belle might have considered herself abandoned completely. She had noticed other small signs of his at least occasional presence as well, now that she thought of them. The supplies she needed for cleaning were regularly replenished. On rare occasion, Belle would find one of his treasures moved or even absent only to return some time later.

But her Rumple was gone.

It took Belle an entire month to work up the courage to take some gold and go to town for her own needs.

Isolation and loneliness had sunk their barbed teeth into her heart and their bleakness could only be relieved by seeing someone, anyone.

“I’m coming back,” she told the seemingly empty castle before closing the massive doors behind her. A basket for some shopping looped over arm, Belle set off.

Belle wondered at the stolen gold thread in her pocket. Would he punish her for taking it? He would have to make himself seen if so and so dark were Belle’s thoughts that she hoped he would. Just to see him at all.

True Love. That rush she felt when their lips touched burned like a flame in the corner of her mind. It kept out just enough of the darkness to keep her determined to outlast the stubborn beast. He would break first. He had to. Belle could not bear the thought of leaving, especially not after her show of bravado. 

If she did, she would confirm his belief that no one could ever love him.

She wanted his love, of course she did. Craved it desperately in a consuming thirst. But that need, raw as it was, paled in comparison to her need for him to feel her love for him, to believe in it. As dismal as her situation was, she knew his was much worse. Deprived of her light and love, Rumple had nothing but the darkness of his curse to rot at him, to drive him insane, back toward the beast he had been when she first met him.

A calculating, driven, ruthless beast, seething angrily all the time.

Belle wished she knew what was driving him, what had him so angry, because she didn't believe it was the curse of the Dark One alone. Something felt very personal about whatever Rumple was after. There were clues, of course: the bit with the baby and Rumple’s mother, the son he had promised to tell her about and then never did. She hadn't forgotten that broken deal either, but, intent on kissing at the time, she’d felt charitable and let it slide.

Still, Belle had not pieced together what drove Rumple- her dear and infuriating mystery.

The shop keepers gave her odd looks as she visited them for the first time having been completely provided for in the Dark Castle before now. In a town as small as this, strangers were uncommon. Especially women alone and on foot. When they asked, she told them the truth, she was the Dark One’s maid and permitted to be here. She did notice that they gulped and swallowed and barely let her pay for her goods upon learning this.

Belle would have wanted to linger among them, but the only conversation she could get out of them were the few words required to make a transaction before they hurried her out of their shops. After failing even to tempt a book seller into conversation about a book they had read in common, Belle gave up the notion of going to the inn for food. No one was going to want to talk to her. She remained alone.

Upon her return, though, Belle saw that for the first time in over a month, a half-drunk chipped cup of tea waited on the tray she had left. To her surprise, it was still warm to the touch.


	4. Chapter 4

Storybrooke:

Mr. Gold’s relationship with the sheriff bore strong resemblance to a revolving door. He would get a call to come represent someone from Graham and he would call Graham to arrest one of his flock for drunken disorderly conduct or even drunk driving if he saw them leaving the Rabbit Hole in such a state. In this case though, Graham seemed to want to head off the usual routine.

Mr. Gold had known for some time of Miss French’s difficulties with alcohol. He had seen the tell-tale signs while he was about town. Little things that might escape an untrained eye such as having a few more empties next to her elbow than her giggling friends, having never seen her out at an establishment which sold alcohol without a drink in her hand, bringing alcohol to official city functions when few others did and always part-taking a bit more than propriety allowed while encouraging others to do so also, seeing her bins full of glass bottles when he came to collect the rent when rent day happened to coincide with trash day. That kind of thing. There was also the look in her eyes when she brought a glass to her lips. He knew that look.

This encounter therefore, was not unexpected.

“My sponsor?” the petite brunette squeaked, “No, there must be someone else. Graham, I can cold turkey it, just wait and see-”

“No. This is it, Belle, this is your sponsor and you will need his help. If you have the appropriate token in a week, you can come back to work, but take this time to get a handle on this. You’ll thank me later.” Graham told her and then walked out the door without ceremony.

“I suggest we start with your apartment, Miss French. I will drive.” He could smell the wine on her and the hunted look in those big blue eyes did nothing to dissuade him from shaking his keys under her nose. Her fear meant more work for him, work he didn't want and wished he could be rid of. Someday his debt to society would be repaid and he could go back to ignoring everyone else’s troubles. But that day was not today. 

As he well knew, Miss French’s apartment was a tiny dump. Sure, she kept it neat enough, but no amount of neatness could make a slum property anything else. And Mr. Gold knew each and every one of his properties.

“So how long have you been drinking every day, Miss French?” He stood at her sink emptying the third full wine bottle. He had six more to go from the first cupboard he had opened in her kitchen.

“I don't drink every day!” Her little mouth had been gaping like a fish since he started pouring. He swallowed, thirsty, but could never let her see that.

“Which day don't you drink?” he demanded mercilessly.

“I mean, it isn't much, just a glass or two after work and to relax on weekends. I only go out every couple of weeks with the girls-”

“Yes, yes I know how it is. And if you go to a party, or out to dinner, or to visit a friend, or if someone comes here. Always a reason to celebrate, am I right? It would be impolite not to offer a guest a drink? I know how it works.” He feigned boredom.

“I don't drink that much! I’m not this out-of-control drunk you and Graham are making me out to be! I never drive drunk, or even tipsy for that matter! I’m responsible! This is insane! And that’s expensive and an unnecessary waste. I use that kind for cooking!” Miss French had reached the indignant whiny phase.

“I’m sure you do, Miss French. Or rather you did. You don't anymore.” He sighed and uncorked the next one before he upended it too over the maw of the garbage disposal.

“Ok, what do I have to do to prove to you that I have this under control? That I’m not an addict like the junkies by the docks? I am employed-”

“Let me stop you right there. You were employed. Your boss, the sheriff I might note, just fired you. Suspension is just the first step he has to take, so don't pretend we both don't know where this is headed.” Mr. Gold sighed again. “Here’s your first piece of advice. You’ll never have this under control because you ARE an addict. The sooner you admit that to yourself, the better off you’ll be. You will need help to stay clean, that’s what I’m for. That’s what the meetings are for. Luckily for you, there’s one tonight. It can be tough in a small town like this where meetings are only once a week, but again, that’s what you’re sponsor is for.”

Mr. Gold looked her in the eyes at last. Her face was flushed, liquid eyes flashing, and she was sweating. “I could have returned those to the store, you know. Now that I have no income for the next week, food might have been nice. I still have to pay the rent at the end of it. I find your making me choose between food and rent rather draconian.”

“Seems to me, Miss French, that if you were less in the habit of buying booze, your rent payments wouldn't seem so painful, nor your belly so empty because you would have that money still in the bank. Miss Responsible Citizen, definitely not an addict.”

At that point he knew he had gone too far because she started to cry. She tried to hide it of course, but her eyes filled, she looked away, and sniffed wetly. It wasn't that he enjoyed being cruel, per se, especially not to Miss French, but paying out his own community service debt to the city cramped his lifestyle by forcing him to interact with others and actually help them, or at least make a good show of it. He couldn't deny, however, the flash of satisfaction in visiting his pain on someone else. He was a monster, not news to him.

His own previous drunk driving sessions had landed him with the choice between disbarment and twenty-five years’ worth of community service running Storybrooke’s AA chapter so that Dr. Hopper could spend more time doing other things, like babysitting the mayor’s son. At his age, that could easily be a life sentence if he were only a little worse than average. Which, given the likely condition of his liver, seemed a safe bet. Regina would pay for this someday, somehow.

Mr. Gold set down the empty bottle on the counter and pulled Miss French into his arms while he balanced most of his weight on his good foot.

Then he blinked. Why had he done that? And why did she smell so good? It wasn't the clinging scent of alcohol that he liked, it was her.

For a moment she stood there, rigid, then she had her arms around him tightly while she soaked the front of his suit with her tears.

Finally, she said plaintively, “Am I really as a bad as all this? How did I get this far gone? Shouldn't I have noticed? I’m reasonably smart and I am an upstanding citizen! I work for the sheriff for gods’ sakes.”

His hands, which clearly didn't belong to him anymore, stroked up and down her back. “I’m afraid so, Miss French, to answer your first question. As for the other two, those of us who don't notice are the ones who end up where we are now. It’s a delusion I suppose, we think we are in control, but we aren't. Maybe we never were.”

“Well, I’m going to miss my cool glass of wine and a good book on a warm summer day. But maybe iced tea will have to substitute.” Her little hands had fisted up his suit in the back and he really should have cared more than he did.

“Look, I know you didn't plan for this, the unemployment or the cold turkey regime, so maybe, if you can stand it, you could join me for dinner this week at my home. Should ease the hunger pangs some, and I always make left-overs.” Who in the hell had let that fall out of his mouth?

But before he could even think about retracting the offer, or saying something so condescending she’d turn him down for sure, she murmured, “Really? I, I just never figured you for that type of guy.”

Mr. Gold pulled away gently and looked down at her red and wet eyes framed in a blotchy and sweaty face, “And just how well do you know me, Miss French? Have you ever made an effort? Or did you just assume landlord was all there was to me?”

She blinked up at him, “That was unfair of me, wasn't it?”

“Oh no, it was perfectly fair. I am every inch the vicious landlord in this town. I have done everything in my power to dissuade any such nosy and uninvited inquiries. So you’re quite right, you’d have no reason to think me anything else.” He licked his lips and for some reason looked down at hers, only for a second, before he went on, softer, “I have my own amends to make, as do you you’ll discover, and I am choosing to discharge some of them by helping you. It’s a transaction, Miss French, one you may choose to accept or not.”

By the end, his tone had returned to its usual cool disinterest. Which is to say, he recognized the voice as his own. And yet, there was something about the feel of her body so close to his which felt entirely foreign and completely familiar at the same time. He could not reconcile it.

Miss French licked her own lips and- did she just glance at his? He blinked rapidly, he must have imagined that. No, she was staring at his mouth while she murmured, “I’d very much appreciate eating this week, Mr. Gold. My landlord told me if I was late one more time I’m out.”

“He sounds like a right prick.” Mr. Gold murmured back softly.

“I thought so, but now I’m not so sure.”

Her words sent his insides to shaking. Mr. Gold hadn’t felt this off kilter since he could remember. He whispered, “I need to give you something.”

She looked up to meet his eyes and their faces were closer than he had thought. Her grip tightened on his suit jacket and her lip trembled. She breathed, “Give me something?”

“Yes,” that low, gravelly voice definitely belonged to someone else, “my phone number. As your sponsor, you need to be able to reach me, always.”

Miss French blinked and searched his eyes, “Oh. Thank you.”

“To reach my jacket pocket I will need you to let go of me, please.” He didn't really want her to, but he couldn't be thinking of that just now. 

She startled and took a step back from him, flushing to her hairline. Mr. Gold tried not to think about that while he fished a business card from his jacket pocket. He held it up, “You are to call me, at any time, day or night, if you think you can't hold off. If you feel tempted, if you need help because someone offers you a drink and you need to distract yourself. Any. Time.”

Mr. Gold shifted his weight and was glad for the eye contact because he had begun to feel decidedly plumper below the belt due to her proximity. The threat of mortal embarrassment should dispense with that problem. Not that he’d had to have such considerations in who knew how long.

She reached for the card and brushed his fingers during the exchange. The fit of his trousers no longer suited him and he yanked his hand away in panic which he tried to hide behind a flippant, “Dinner is at six-thirty. Now, you will pour out the rest of these and every bottle thereafter I find in this place.”

With that he turned his back on her and began opening cupboards and passing down bottles as he found them. She had, as he had known she would, quite a collection. The secret stashes would be the hardest on her because he knew where to look and she wouldn't be the first drunk to hide emergency booze with other unmentionables. He tried not to think about what kind of vibrator collection Miss French might have.


	5. Chapter 5

The Dark Castle:

Belle stopped waiting at his long wooden table to take her tea in hopes of his joining her. Instead, she poured her own, snagged a few biscuits and returned to her own room to drink it with a book she had purchased from the village. But she left the chipped cup on the tray with the nearly full pot of tea.

She wasn't rewarded every time, but often enough when she returned to clear away the tea things, a shallow ring of tea and a few stray tea leaves would grace the bottom of their chipped cup. He was still there, and the cup mattered to him still. He might be stubborn, but Belle thought he would wear down eventually. One way or another.

One day she woke up in the morning to find her dress freshly cleaned and hanging in place of his pilfered clothing. By that time she had acquired a noticeable collection of her favorites. At first she had tried to be discrete about what she took, but when she decided to deliberately provoke him, she took just what she liked best as soon as he soiled them. She now wore one of his blue silk shirts as a night dress point of fact, but he had apparently repossessed everything else. Pity.

But also a good sign.

Or so she thought, until his laundry basket remained empty for two solid weeks in a row. Then she knew he had simply decided to take away one of the few pieces of him left to her. At the end of that second week, when Belle was forced to admit to herself what he was up to, she stopped putting out the chipped cup and instead took it to her room.

Two could play that game.

But when, after another week went by and he had left it in her possession, Belle had to conclude that he did not want the reminder of her anymore.

These creeping realizations stole her hope day by day. She had not seen him since that fateful day when he had tried to break their deal. Trips to town did little too soothe her, but she made herself go once a week and even ate in the tavern in an attempt to maintain some sanity, of a sort. Loneliness squeezed her like a vice.

By the forth month since his absence, Belle had been forced to admit to herself that his strategy was working. Stray thoughts that maybe she had been wrong about him, that she had imagined how that kiss had felt and it's significance, appeared as she was scrubbing the stairs above the main entryway.

And that was the moment Belle let herself cry openly without any attempt to hide it. Up until then, she had only cried in her room, into her pillow, the one he had given her.

Then her foot slipped.

Belle had only enough time to register that she was falling before her back struck the steps on the way down and she tumbled into a heap at the bottom with the water from the mop bucket rushing around her body to soak into her clothes. She lay there, stunned and hurting from more than just the bruises. After all, she had absolutely no reason to get up a moment before she felt like it and the shocking cold of the stone tiles and her wet dress had dispelled an encroaching numbness so subtle she had failed to notice it until now, when it had been so abruptly disrupted.

Her eyes slid closed. She was fortunate she hadn't hit her head, or broken anything. Even a fall from only four steps up could have resulted in serious harm. Would he have helped her had she been hurt? Even a week ago her answer would have been: yes, of course he would. But today was different.

Today Belle didn't know for sure.

Hot tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes and Belle began to doubt her plan for getting him to come around. Should she leave after all? She could travel the world if she wanted to on his gold thread which he had been replacing far faster than she could spend it in town. The storeroom where he kept the stuff was verging on, no, was out right ridiculous in dimension. If she took a whole spool, would he even notice?

It galled her that the spinning wheel he used to use in his great hall now stood covered in dust. She had decided not to dust it to see if she could figure out when he might actually be around in the castle, but no finger prints marred the thick pile of dust. He must have a wheel elsewhere. In his now missing tower, or the equally verboten library. If it even still existed at all. Taking her library away after having made it just for her, now that was a cruel thing to do. Done to drive her away she knew, but it hurt nonetheless.

It was the thought of that cruelty that brought an idea to Belle’s anguished mind.

Maybe she wouldn't get up at all.

If she lay there, pretending unconsciousness, eventually he would discover her. Then she could find out if he cared if she lived or died. It was the spiteful satisfaction of hoping he would panic and think her perhaps dead when he discovered her that decided matters. She would lay there and wait.

***

Usually she moved about the castle during the day. She no longer curled up in the settee while he spun after their afternoon tea or fell asleep in her library. Of course not. He had taken her library away from her and without any reason to read in the great room, he now knew she read in the bedroom she had appointed for herself in his absence.

Enchanting the castle to track her had been a simple matter so keeping out of sight posed no challenge, and not even much inconvenience once he’d concealed the entrance to his tower. He rarely left it anymore save for when he went out to meet someone for a deal. Diverting his guests from the parts of the castle he had left for her to clean was just as easy. They now inhabited two completely separated buildings and she did not even know it.

It had taken some determination on his part to stop appearing to take the tea she left for him, even if she never saw him do it. Taking back his clothing from her had been harder still. She had lain there sprawled out in slumber with his favorite blue silk shirt only just covering her form. And the lovely outline of her breast- no, best not to think on that- he had reinstated the cleansing spell on her dress and revoked her laundry duties that night.

Finding his clothes altered to fit her body had been a surprise, however. Clever woman.

Even having been so successful in expunging her from his life as thoroughly as he could, the tracking spell remained. He could usually dully feel her moving about the castle like he would feel a hand on his arm, but accompanied with a vague sense of which room she inhabited that very moment.

Today she had been in the entry way a very long time, completely unmoving. The strangeness of that took a while to dawn on him. Then, as the sun began to set in earnest, he thought back to when he had felt her enter that part of the castle; it had been only just afternoon. And she was till there and not moving.

With a jolt of dread, he blinked and set down his pen, focusing on the spell. It registered Belle in the same place, unmoving. Something was wrong. And it probably had been since afternoon. And he had been too busy ignoring her to notice.

Between that thought and the next, Rumplestiltskin appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Belle!” Her name left his lips in a whoosh of air and he skittered down the steps to where she lay. He didn't see any blood. But there she was, unmoving, so still in the failing light. The awkward angle of her body made him think she’d hit her head in a fall. Her clothes were wet from the water puddled around her.

“Belle!” He cried out as his fluttering hands finally landed on her damp, cold hand. She did not stir, but this close he could see she still breathed. “Belle,” he whispered, “don't worry, I’ll take care of this.”

With a healing spell in his hand, he caressed her clammy cheek and let his magic flow into her body seeking what was wrong. He murmured as his spell sought out her ills, “It’s ok, Belle. It’s gonna be just fine.”

But it wasn't. His magic returned to his hand telling him of a few bruises and having rewarmed her chilled body, but no head injury, no reason she shouldn't be looking up at him with angry, hurt eyes, full of disdain for his treatment of her.

Her eyes weren't opening.

His thumb traced her cheekbone, “Belle, wake up. It’s time to wake up now.”

Nothing.

Rumplestiltskin reached out again with his magic, looking more deeply than for surface injuries, Maybe something had caused the fall in the first place, something more sinister than clumsiness. Her heart was fine, it beat strongly in her chest. She hadn't eaten anything that disagreed with her. No evidence of poisoning.

He licked his lips and withdrew his hand, thinking. With a wave, he dried all the water and cleaned up the mess. Then he scooped her petite frame into his arms and transported them both back to his tower. A snap brought her bed, and the remaining shirt he had not had the heart to take from her, to a hastily cleared place in his laboratory. He placed her gently on the bed. Another wave of his hand and he had dressed her in his shirt, as he had seen her all those nights ago, before he pulled the covers over her.

She didn't have any kind of fever or sickness he could detect. For all he could tell, she should be awake and spitting mad at him, but her face remained relaxed in sleep.

A curse? The sleeping curse?

With a sigh, Rumplestiltskin admitted to himself that he very well knew the most expedient way to end any curse and that he had the power to do it. With no threat to his own curse, to boot. Not anymore. He had forever lost that opportunity when he chose the curse over her love.

And he did want to kiss her. He feared once he started kissing her, he would be unable to stop. Unable to return her once she woke to her half of the castle, as he thought of it now. Even just having her here, asleep as she apparently was, had warmed his heart and filled him with trembles and longings he could not ignore. He had missed her so desperately and his eyes refused to leave her form, tracing over and over her features as if he could absorb her into his personhood and never be alone again just by looking at her.

What was he to do? He had told her his power meant more to him than she did. But it hadn't taken him long after that to realize that she no longer posed a threat to his magic at all. That one chance to be the man his son wanted him to be, deserved him to be, was gone forever because he had been so certain that if he lost that power, the curse would never be cast and he would never see Bae again.

The future he had seen indicated that he would be cursed and need his power in order to get to the land without magic, true, but he couldn't help but feel like he had missed something enormously important when he had pulled away from her. 

He had been on the verge of deciding she was right for days. He missed her intolerably and now that he knew she was no threat to his magic, why couldn't he have her love? Nothing in his visions suggested he couldn't. Admitting he had been wrong would be less painful than being separated from her another moment.

But what was best for her? She should leave him. See the world as she wanted. He’d left her more gold than she’d need to book passage on every ship for the next ten thousand years and had been hopeful when she had gone to town that first time having taken some. But then she’d come back and nearly caught him drinking what he thought would be the last cup of tea she ever prepared for him.

He sat beside her on the bed now, stroking her hair. He should wake her and then try once more to convince her to go, for her sake. She should not be tied to the monster he was. How could he possibly convince her to leave him if these past months had failed abysmally at that?

Maybe calm words would work where nothing else had. He had to try. For her.

Rumplestiltskin leaned over her and laid his lips on hers ever so softly, lingering over the warm tingle spreading through his chest at the contact.

Just as he was about to pull away, her hand seized a handful of his hair at the back of his head to hold him in place while she kissed him back. And she kept kissing him.

And he kept kissing her too. A moan escaped him.

The next sound his brain registered to him was his own sob stifled against her caressing mouth. It didn't take him long to get that under control, to master himself enough to pull back, trembling and cradle her face between his palms so he could look into her eyes. He probably looked a sight, tear stained face broadcasting how desperately he missed her. Some powerful Dark One he was.

But her hand landed in his curls and she stroked them while her expression wrinkled up in a seeming tug of war between her own happiness to see him and total rage. She had better control of herself than he did. Of course she did.

“I’m not sorry for the dirty trick, Rumple. You deserved it.” Her voice was a soft murmur. “Quite aside from which, I spent a very uncomfortable afternoon on a wet cold floor just for a chance to tell you what a complete and utter, idiotic, wool-brained, stubborn, hairy, son of a goat you are.”

She huffed out a breath, definitely not murmuring anymore. “And you’re godsdamned stupid too.”

“Hairy? That, I am not-”

“Oh shut up! I’m not done yelling at you. I don't know how you have survived this long making deals if you can't even figure out what they mean yourself. I mean I feel like I have to keep telling you your business because you haven't thought through a damned thing since we met!”

“What-?”

“No. You shut the hell up! I have proof of just how much you have been missing me, longing for me, never mind the whole True Love part and oh you just shut your gaping gob!”

He was pretty sure it was shut but she was heaving indignant breaths under him as she had not allowed him to move away from where he’d leaned over her to kiss her. If he wasn't everything she’d said, he’d have had something to say, moved off her, let go of her, any of those reasonable courses of action, but all he could manage was to keep stroking her hair. Because she hadn't told him not to yet.

On she went, “And you left me all alone so we both would suffer, go completely mad in this huge cold castle all alone. By ourselves with no one when we could have had each other, Rumple! Of all the ridiculous notions you’ve had, this surely tops the list! You couldn't even be bothered to think through the few simple words that formed our deal. There weren't even that many!!!”

She paused for breath and his ears rang but he just didn't care. Her hair was soft and the color in her flushed cheeks was beautiful and he was going to kiss her again, but then she started up anew.

“Looking for love??? Sound familiar Rumple? Am I the only one who remembers these things? You said you weren't looking for it, but you never said you’d deny it to yourself, or to ME, if you found it. No you just thought you’d slither away because you don't think I can love you. Well I can and I do and you can't tell me you don't because you may be able to lie with words, but you’re just not sophisticated enough to lie with actions, especially not while trying to use True Love’s Kiss on me! I see right through you, scaly hide and all. And I loved your damned sparkly, golden, soft scales, you cuddly lizard of a man!”

Then she was quiet and stroking those scales on his cheeks. And her eyes were huge shimmering pools of tears beneath him.

“I do love you, Belle,” he said softly at last. “But that doesn't mean I good for you. I love you enough to let you go. And you should go.”

Rumplestiltskin choked on his tears as they flooded him with his last words. Not that he moved away. All he wanted to do was climb fully onto the bed on top of her and, well, no sense in that, so he remained as he was propped on one hand and stroking her hair with the other.

“You can take that load of nonsense out with your own damned chamber pot! No one decides my fate but me and I get to decide what is best for me. Not you. Not my father, not my former fiancé, me! Now I expect you to start behaving like the man in love I know you are. I won't accept less than that!” Her lip trembled even as her jaw tried to clench, though it wobbled too.

He just wanted to go back to kissing her.

She was right, he was making up excuses and acting like a coward to the point of nearly breaking a deal with her. He would have if she hadn't caught him out. But now, now she had a hand gripping the back of his neck and the other snaked around his rib cage urging him closer, more fully on top of her.

“I love you, Belle. There’s nothing I can say to fix these past months and I know I can't make you do anything you don't want to, but I wish you’d reconsider. A,” he paused at the rapid fluttering in his chest, “a life with me will be neither pleasant nor easy. I will be a burden to you, a constant weight. I’ll dim your brightness day by day and you should shine, Belle, you should shine. And I fear,” here he had to swallow past a lump in his throat, “I fear that I will never again have the strength to let you go. Please go, please don't let me, my darkness, ruin you.”

One of his tears landed on her cheek and when he blinked to clear his eyes, more followed.

Her own eyes fluttered, then she hauled him down, fully on top of her to kiss him until his curse flared to life to save him from asphyxiation. He could feel her breathing through her nose as she kissed him over and over again, but his breath just wouldn't come. Good thing he was cursed.


	6. Chapter 6

Storybrooke:

“This is the first dinner in as long as I can remember without a glass of wine, or something!” Belle’s voice sounded small and strangled even to her. Most of the ratatouille and fresh crab legs had been consumed by the time she had the courage to tell him.

“At least now you can see it clearly. That’s a huge step in the right direction.” He kept his eyes on what remained of his food not giving them to her so she couldn't guess this thoughts.

Not sure what to say to that and trying to salvage a stilted and awkward conversation any way she could she said, a bit stronger, “I definitely haven't eaten this well, ever, I’m certain of it. I would never have expected this from you, and I’m grateful.”

Belle could swear he was blushing though with his head bent determinedly over his plate and his hair curtaining his face, all she could see was his forehead and the part of his silky looking hair.

Finally, he did look up at her though, an unexpectedly shy expression on his face. “Not exactly a well composed dish, but I was planning on left overs tonight before Graham informed me of my new charge. But I am glad you like it, just the same. I’ll take care of the shopping before tomorrow night, rest assured.”

Belle gaped at him. He fed her home cooked restaurant quality food from scratch and he was apologetic for an unorthodox choice of dishes? “I’d never want you to go to any trouble on my account. You certainly don't have to feed me. Why did you accept me anyway? Couldn't you have found someone else to sponsor me if you didn't want to?”

He winced and gave her a sheepish half-smile. Yes, his tone indicated he hadn't been thrilled about taking her on. “Graham offered to take two years off my sentence if I did a good job with you, rescued his good employee from the abyss, as he said. I may not have had to feed you, but newly sober people do better if they’re not alone when they’re most tempted. And I am getting something for my trouble.”

“Your sentence? And you’re getting something else?” Belle didn't understand.

“I owe community service for what could be the rest of my natural life in exchange for retaining my credentials as a lawyer.” He paused. Belle had never imagined the man behind the stiff landlord everyone avoided, but now he seemed so reserved and almost timid. “As for the other, how often do you suppose I have company at mealtime?”

Belle was about to answer that she saw him in Granny’s often enough, but never with anyone else. On impulse she covered his hand with hers and he startled. Concerned she’d crossed a line, Belle jerked her hand back and hastily put another bite of food in her mouth so she wouldn't have to say anything.

While she chewed, he murmured, “Thank you, you surprised me is all. We will need to leave for the meeting in a few minutes, so you are aware.”

***

“It’s about time, sister!” Leroy greeted Belle upon her introduction to the group. But Leroy was the least offensive of the other attendees. Nottingham showed up drunk as usual and slurred through the opening words. Then he leered at Belle and was aggressively supportive of everything she said. Will Scarlet just stared at her out of too round eyes like he would surely follow her home and then throw pebbles at her bedroom window. It was enough to tempt Gold to move her in with him entirely, for her own good, of course.

“- I never realized until tonight when I kept looking around for wine that wasn't there how much a fixture alcohol is- I mean was- in my life. I’m not pleasantly fuzzed now and on my way to the couch with a book and some more wine before bed and I feel,” Belle licked her lips, “I feel like I’m enormously hungry except that I’m still very much full. Or maybe I just feel like I forgot part of my clothing, or just kinda itchy, except not, all over. You know?”

Her comparatively cultured and well-heeled words were the most erudite this group had ever heard and she’d said “kinda.” These morons had been wasting his time for so long, and now, now there was a voice worth hearing. And he listened.

“Totally, just before I fall off the wagon again, I get all panicky and sweaty, and super thirsty. Like, beer is all I can think of and then the thought of never having another drink terrifies me. Then I wake up in a cell the next day to your charming face. It’d be nice to get more than a month between benders.” Leroy, introspection? Gold couldn't believe his ears.

Nottingham belched.

Couldn't expect miracles, of course. Not from that guy.

Scarlet, with his bulging and bloodshot eyes fixed on Belle, said, “I know Mr. Gold’s your sponsor, but if you ever want, ya know, someone else, you can always call me. I’ll give you my number.”

“Mr. Scarlet, that is quite inappropriate, and clumsy to boot. I’m certain Miss French can do better than your sorry excuse for a person if she is looking for a date.” He shouldn't have gone that far with his chastisement, but done was done.

The meeting dragged on and Gold gleefully called a close five minutes early. He made certain to get his body between Belle’s and Nottingham’s to instantly offer her a ride home.

Alone with her once again in the dark comforting and quiet interior of his car, Gold cursed himself for being no better than Nottingham. The only difference between the two men, not quite the only, was that he had access to Belle. Gold was certain he wanted her and he was just as certain that he was no better for her than Nottingham.

Maybe a little better, how Nottingham had gone this long without a rape conviction escaped him, but he had to assure that Nottingham did not achieve that mark with Belle.

And then there was puppy dog and moron Will Scarlet. Gold didn't like the sympathetic and warm smile Belle had given Scarlet while he related his own sob story for the thousandth time. The guy was a vampire who fed on pity.

And Gold? No less a vampire, but at least he fed on something so dignified as money.

Still a pathetic loser Belle should want no part of. So why was he asking her to dine with him at his home? Driving her home? Thinking of kissing her goodnight?

Oh no, no, that would never happen. He would stay in the car, belted in to prevent that intrusion.

He would do as Graham asked, deliver her from evil, and send her on her way. If he possibly could. And she was so strong, strong enough to perhaps make it. Unlike the rest of them.

Unlike himself.


	7. Chapter 7

The Dark Castle:

“So you don't want to come then?” Rumplestiltskin was mocking her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, “You know I do. You also know I have one presentable thing to wear and it isn't suitable for travel. Perhaps you should do something about that.”

He tapped his fingers together while he stared down his nose at her, “Perhaps. Perhaps I would rather not waste time waiting for you to pack!”

With that he seized her flush against his body, staring directly into her eyes as red smoke enveloped them.

When it cleared, Belle found herself in the middle of a thick green wood, enormous trees as far as she could see in every direction. He had taken them to the foothills of a great mountain range, it would seem, but one unfamiliar to her. She found that in the mild summer warmth, her dress was adequate and he had replaced her usual house shoes with soft leather boots which supported her ankles and cradled her feet snugly.

Birds sang in the trees and she could hear the soft sounds of water in the distance as well as the wind in the valley whispering through the trees.

He hadn't said a word, just watching her while she looked around. She turned back toward him, “I thought you said you had a deal to make. Unless a deer can pay the price of magic, this seems an unlikely spot.”

“Are you complaining already? I can send you back if you’d rather-”

“No!” Belle said hastily gripping his pointing digit. It was hard enough to believe he’d actually agreed to take her with him on business, and no matter what that was, she was curious. “Who would meet you out here though, Rumple? This place is as lovely as it is remote.”

“Wouldn't be a secret meeting if I told you,” he tickled her under the chin with wriggling digits and she giggled, “now would it?”

“Fine, keep your secrets.” She caught his hand and kissed his palm then smiled at him as his gaze heated when he stroked her cheek.

“We’ve a little time though, if you’d care for stroll?” His voice had lowered into a rumbling purr.

Belle's heart thumped enthusiastically in her chest and she slid her arm though his offered one.

The walk was not a long one before they rounded the curve of the hill and he led her down to a little stream just below the most charming little waterfall she could remember. It was no more tall than she was, but the water had been forced into a tight shoot of rocks and so it jetted out merrily before tinkling into its small pool below, more an extravagant garden fountain in stature than a proper waterfall, but she thought it was entirely cute.

And so was his smile when she looked back and caught her watching him. It was a sly thing, an appraising and nearly smug turn of his lips. To pleased with himself by half.

So she kissed the smile off his face.

And to her relief, he held onto her properly and kissed her deeply, fully and without hesitation. She gripped his leather coat and returned his passion. Bell thought maybe they would-

He pulled away abruptly, “We shall have to put a pin in this, dearie, I’m afraid.”

He snapped his fingers and Belle gasped in delight. The elegant picnic he set out for her soothed her irritation with his refusal to take their affections to their natural conclusion, for the moment at least.

“I will be back before you have eaten all of that, so enjoy yourself and don't wander off,” he sing-songed to her and then with a flick of his wrist, he disappeared leaving her alone.

He’d left her a lot of food. She started with the sun-warmed blackberries and their sweet bedding of oat and honey crumble. She found cream in a little ceramic pot and added it with relish.

It was true, he did make it back before she was quite full. It had been an effort to leave him some of the dessert, but she knew he favored sweets and also knew she would enjoy watching him eat them. And so, been he reappeared, she was busying herself with a bit of cheese on a crusty sour and buttery bread.

“True to my word, no?” He lowered himself to sitting cross-legged beside her in one smooth motion.

“And you didn't even need any help this time.” Belle leaned affectionately into him and nuzzled his hair. “How did it go?”

He didn't answer at first but turned to respond to her nuzzling by swiftly drawing her in to a deep kiss. “Would have been a waste of my time except for this.”

From thin air he pulled a beautiful necklace. He dangled it in front of her with an arched eyebrow and a tilted chin. “If you’ll have it?”

The warmth in Belle’s middle had nothing to do with the comfort of the summer day. Belle smiled as tears prickled her eyes and she took the necklace gingerly from his hand, brushing against his skin deliberately as she did so. “I never figured the Dark One for a romantic. I love you regardless but this is lovely, Rumple.”

She looked at him for his reaction past where she held the necklace up for inspection. His self-deprecating and hesitant smile charmed her.

Belle bent her head and held the necklace back toward him an in invitation which he took. His nose skimmed along her forehead as he reached behind her head to smooth her hair out of the way and fastened the clasp.

She didn't let him retreat but set about kissing him, hoping he would take the hint.

When she pushed him down onto the fir needle strewn forest floor and rolled on top of him he groaned loudly.

“Belle, I can't. Please, Belle, no more.” He panted.

“What is it Rumple?” She stopped kissing him, but didn't otherwise remove her person from his.

“You, I. I mean.” He sighed and shifted his hips beneath her.

“Do you not, want to? Want me?” The thought struck Belle that maybe he was uncomfortable in some way she hadn't accounted for.

But his arms around her back tightened and he sighed, “Oh Belle, I do. Of course I do, but it wouldn't be right of me.”

Oh, that tired excuse.

“Rumplestiltskin! You listen to me, right now.” His eyes widened and he flattened himself into the ground away from her sudden onslaught of words. “I want to. You want to. The rest of the world thinks you took me that first night, so really, there can be no concern for propriety by now.” Then she went on more gently, bring a hand up to stroke his curly hair, “If there’s some reason you don't want to, if something else is holding you back, you can tell me. If you just need to take this slowly between us, I’ll understand. But for me? I’m more than ready and I want this. With you. Not anyone else. With my True Love.”

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” His voice held no mocking or unkindness, just the earnest desire for the answer.

“I read, Rumplestiltskin, so much that you complain I ignore you. Though they tried, my parents couldn't keep me from what interested me. I may be innocent of having engaged in the actual act, but not in how it works and not in what the consequences can be. I want this. With you.”

Belle left no room for equivocation.

She watched him swallow and blink several times. Then he closed his eyes, coming to a decision. Softly he said, “Alright, sweetheart. But not here.”

“Why not?” Another delay! Intolerable!

“Because I don't care to have fir needles in uncomfortable places and I know you’d regret that choice as well. Let’s spend the afternoon together, here, outside in the open and, if you still have your heart set on taking me, when we return, I will be yours.” Rumplestiltskin sounded for all the world like he’d just glimpsed hope for the first time in a hundred years and the raw and hungry look he gave her stilled her tongue for long moments.

She stared down at him and he stared up at her, both were breathing hard as the agreement became real between them. They would have each other. Today. No more waiting, no more evasions, no more interruptions or distractions. Belle smiled a little, nervous in spite of herself, and nodded slowly.

At that, his eyes grew shiny and huge and his lip trembled a little.

Gravity pulled her toward a slow, gentle kiss, holding his lips and sucking just softly as he returned the kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

Storybrooke:

Belle woke up with a headache and she felt nervous. Nevertheless, she was determined to make the most of her sudden time off. She planned to take herself for walks by the ocean. To read. To clean her apartment.

So she got up and drank water to chase down some pain killers.

For a little while she tidied, starting with taking empty glass bottles out to the bins. She knew she had to do that when she found herself closing an eye to squint down the neck of a bottle in case there were a few drops clinging within. She leaned against the door when she came back in from that chore. Had Mr. Gold suggested iced tea?

But Belle had no patience for that it turned out. So she tapped a finger rapidly on her countertop while she stared at the much too slow tea kettle.

The tea didn't sooth anything.

Ok, time to go out, for that brisk walk to burn off the nervous boredom.

The ocean was too loud and her headache returned after the medication wore off. Determined to get through this, she kept walking. Up and down the beach, then up and down the boardwalks of the marina visiting each of the boats. She put on a cheerful smile and responded to the kindly meant inquiries that she had some time off. How long would it take before the entire town knew Belle French was suspended from her job for being a drunk?

The blow to her respectability stung viciously.

And it didn't feel right. She knew very well that her discomfort was a direct result of having stopped drinking, but she couldn't possibly be in the same category as Nottingham. Could she?

This would pass and she would show everyone she wasn't an alcoholic after all. She would go back to being the voice of the sheriff’s station- calming all callers, a person upon whom everyone knew they could rely.

If Graham would take her back. But what if he didn't? What if he decided that enough was enough and this suspension was just what Gold said it was, a formality? When she couldn't pay her rent the next month, Gold would evict her and she would be forced to move back in with her father or be homeless.

Homelessness would have been preferable except for winter. She wouldn't survive that even if she had a bed in the shelter at night. Being outside day after frozen day would be the end of her.

But her father. How could she even face her father? She couldn't remember the last time they’d spoken, but it must have been before she moved out following her mother’s death. She couldn't face it. She couldn't.

With tears streaming down her face she charged in through Mr. Gold’s front door setting the bell above it jangling wildly and slammed the door, breaths heaving raggedly. The man himself burst through the curtain a moment later, face set in a snarl until he saw it was her.

Then his features drew down into a concerned frown.

Not having any idea what to do now, Belle just stood there in the middle of his showroom floor, staring at him and crying uncontrollably.

After a moment of considering her, he slowly crossed to stand in front of her, cane planted. He waited.

Belle didn't see judgment in his eyes. He was simply waiting for her to speak, to make a decision about what to do now that she had stormed into his shop a sobbing mess of nerves.

“Please don't make me homeless!!!” Belle wailed when her mouth started working again.

“What’s this now? I thought you were on track to be able to pay your rent this month.” Mr. Gold spoke softly, like she was a frightened kitten.

“This month, yes! But next month after Graham fires me? I can't go back to living with my father! I can't! And no one in town will want anything to do with a pathetic lush who lost her job for drinking away her lunch hours!! No one will ever hire me again. I’ll be homeless and then as soon as it's winter again, I’ll freeze to death in a snowdrift in the middle of the night because there aren't enough beds in the shelter if I don't starve to death first-”

She hadn't finished crying out her fears, not by half, but he silenced her by pulling her against his suited body and rocking her. “Hush now.”

Is that what he would have said to a child? She’d have been angry about being patronized in such a manner if she hadn't been overwhelmingly grateful for the hug such that she clung to him for dear life.

“Hush, hush now. I won't let you die in a snow drift.”

Had she heard him right? She tried to stem the flow of sobs long enough to choke or, “You won't?”

“No, of course not. What kind of sponsor would be if I did that?”

“But you never give anyone a break on the rent, what will you do when I can't pay you?” Belle was wheedling and it was so damned embarrassing. Shame flamed her cheeks as much as the tears did, but she was so far past calm she didn't know what to do for herself except cling to him.

“There are other ways a sponsor can help. If you do lose your job, it might be that I can help you find a new one.” He was murmuring soothingly and had begun to stroke up and down her back with his free hand.

After a long moment of trying to master herself, she managed, “You’d do that? For me?”

“I would.” He paused holding her tightly against him. “Tell me what brought this on.”

Belle thought about it while her sobs trailed off, feeling somewhat better for being in his arms. “I woke up feeling, off, nervous. I took a walk, then I ended up here. Like this. This has never happened before.”

“Ah,” was all he said for a moment then he murmured, “headache at all? You feel pretty warm to me, too.”

“Yeah, I took something for the headache, but it came back. Maybe I’m getting sick or something. But oh no, I probably just gave it to you by, by doing this. I’m so sorry-!”

“Shush, Belle, you might be sick, but it might be that you haven’t been this long without a drink in a long, long time. Withdrawal. It can get serious. I think you should stay here with me for the next few hours at least.” Mr. Gold didn't sound as though he were judging her, but Belle was definitely judging herself.

“Withdrawal?! How long will that take?” Never in a million years could Belle believe she had become one of those pathetic addicts she brought breakfast to in the drunk tanks most mornings. Not her. She burst into another round of sobbing.

“Ok, ok, breathe. It’ll take a couple of days, probably. I’ve got a book on it in the back, if you’re interested.” Mr. Gold offered thoughtfully.

A book! A book would make everything better. She’d know what she was in for and books had always helped her face the bitter and cruel world in the past.

She let go of him to pull back and look him in the eyes, “I would so appreciate a book about this right now. If only the library was open, I could go there to read up on this. I feel so lost.”

Mr. Gold retrieved his pocket square and brushed at the fresh tears streaming down her face until they had slowed and she was just watching his open and warm expression. She sniffed and he pressed the bit of silk into her hand where it had fallen to her side. She convulsively gripped the dampened, soft fabric and began to rub it between her fingers compulsively.

“You can sit on the cot to read for the next few hours, and we can talk when you need it. This may well get worse before it gets better, depending.

“Thank you,” Belle whispered as she followed him, gripping his pocket square tightly.

The more she read about detoxing, the gladder she felt that she had him for a sponsor and had landed in his shop when she did. Within two hours, a fine tremor quivered her hands such that holding the book still enough to not be distracting was difficult. She found she needed a break from reading long before she normally would have and wandered back into the front of his shop.

“How’re things?” Mr. Gold asked her, looking up from his ledger.

Belle leaned on the counter opposite him, “I’m certainly better informed, but I feel a little worse, actually.”

She put her trembling hand out on the glass for him to see. He covered it with his own and stroked it with his thumb.

The bell above the door sounded startling her, though Mr. Gold just looked up casually from where he had been studying their hands.

“Figures you’d be in here with him after you got fired. Gotta pay the rent somehow, eh Belle?” Her father.

Belle didn't turn around and she wanted to sink through the floor and have it close in after her, but he wasn't done.

“I don't know why Graham put up with a wino like you for so long. It’s all over town now, of course, so I have even more cause to be ashamed of you. As if what you did to your mother wasn't enough.” He was right behind her now all but yelling in her ear as she cringed away. She’d have climbed over the counter if she could have. And her hands shook so.

“Mr. French.” Mr. Gold said firmly, “If you have business here, conclude it and if not, get out.”

Mr. Gold stalked around the counter, advancing on the taller man.

“I’m here with my loan payment.” Maurice French snarled in distaste.

“Three days late. Did you also bring the interest those three days cost?” Mr. Gold’s voice remained steady, implacable. 

Belle closed her eyes tightly trying not to cry, hoping this would all be over soon. Mortification, shame and grief piled on her already overtaxed mind and she just wanted to start shrieking at her father and never stop.

“It’s all there,” her father snapped at Mr. Gold.

“Do I need to remind you of the terms of your loan, Mr. French?” How did he remain so calm, so solid in the face of her father’s wrath? She’d never managed it.

“I paid. I don't need the likes of you telling an honest business man how to manage his affairs. You’ll have your money, Gold. But maybe you should ask my daughter what she might be willing to do for you when she can't do the same, huh?”

He might have said more, but Mr. Gold roared: “Get. Out.”

And while her cheeks flamed in mortal embarrassment and horror, she heard Mr. Gold put her father's payment in his safe a moment after the shop bell jingled and the door closed behind the man she hated most in the world.

Crying again no matter her efforts not to, Belle sniffled, “Is that what you’d expect? If I can't pay the rent? Is that the kind of job you’d help me find?”

He was silent a long time but Belle couldn't even look at him.

“No. No, of course not.”

When she did look back, instead of the disgust or disdain she expected, she saw barely contained rage. And he wasn't looking at her, but at the door which had closed behind her father.


	9. Chapter 9

The Dark Castle:

Belle fretted on her way from the Dark Castle to town. He had been very clear that she could leave any time she liked and had encouraged many trips to town, usually for books or the sweets she knew he enjoyed, and Belle frequently indulged this pleasure when he was away.

She couldn't be disappointed, or rather, it didn't seem right to be disappointed that her first experience with sex, with her True Love no less, was as he had described it to her.

Awkward, embarrassing and not a particularly comfortable experience. Certainly not the earth shaking affair like the best romances she’d read described, but not painful either as the servants had described between sobs. The man she loved had spent the entire evening apologizing for everything he did, treated her like she was made of glass and generally seemed like he was terrified. Which made no sense.

He’d begun with a proclamation that he wouldn't give her a child and would prevent it by using his magic to render his seed inert. He’d said all this matter of factly, waved a hand over his crotch which glowed faintly blue for a moment, and then seemed to treat the spell as a necessary chore.

He never so much as consulted her feelings on that topic.

Belle felt torn. Childbirth was a terrifying prospect, but she had thought that if he had agreed to this in the first place, that was what he wanted. Since kissing him in his laboratory, Belle had been mentally preparing herself to become a parent with him, to make a family and a home and a life here with her Rumple. And apparently he didn't want that.

She knew she needed to say something, to do the brave thing and talk to him about it. To at least ask why. But she needed the chance to understand her own feelings first, to sort out what she truly desired with him.

Her assumption that the consummation of their love would be akin to marriage had obviously been dreadfully wrong. But it wasn't as if she thought he meant to cast her aside when he had tired of her, like many men did. Rumple meant to keep his word and she had no doubt whatsoever of his love for her.

There was something she just wasn't seeing.

And still, she could not deny the flush creeping up her cheeks at odd moments now. This must be how married women felt in the early days. Since that lackluster first attempt, things had… improved notably.

Sometimes Belle thought they spent more time laying naked together than otherwise, depending on the day. It seemed, with the awkwardness spent, that Rumple was an ardent and enthusiastic lover. After the first time Belle had read a passage aloud which interested her, Rumple continued to inquire after her reading regularly, encouraging her to find new and different things for them to try.

Now he smiled a genuine smile of pleasure at her suggestions and she would find herself at his mercies in their newly claimed bedchamber, or in other, less conventional locations.

So while that first time hadn't lived up to her hopes, the subsequent adventure had surpassed them. Except that she would need to ask Rumple about a baby. When she was ready. Belle imagined that pregnancy and all its discomforts would put their activities on hold for longer than Belle thought she could tolerate just now.

It could wait.

Besides which, today was the day the bookseller had indicated he expected the book she’d requested to arrive. It was a rare book, but the balding man didn't hesitate for a moment, in spite of his blushes, to take the gold she offered and promise to use his connections to find what she needed as quickly as possible. Already his family wore all new clothing as a result of Belle’s reading habit.

The terror of the Dark One had dissipated now that everyone knew his maid on sight and her genuine warmth and goodwill had coaxed them from their cowers. They also knew the gold she carried enriched everyone she met and that she was an excellent listener.

In effect, Belle found herself now somewhere between their liege lady and a trusted friend. 

Children ran out to greet her and she presented them each with little macramé bracelets she had made from wool Rumple had spun and dyed for her use. She knew he had charmed them with protection spells and to make them grow with the wearer when he thought she wasn't looking. She’d seen the open spell book on his workbench later.

Belle ruffled heads and laughed happily as each child held their bracelet out for the others to see and exclaim over. The sun was shining and her heart was light.

Extricating herself was a bit difficult until she told the children they should go and show their gifts to their mothers and they all scattered. A few bracelets remained in her sack which she would happily hand deliver to those she hadn't seen yet.

The bookseller smiled broadly at her, “Good morning, Belle! You’re looking chipper as always.”

“Good Morning, Louis, and how are you?”

“Fine, fine,” he replied continuing to smile, “You’ll be pleased to hear that I was able to procure the book you asked for. And several others I think might interest you.”

Belle felt herself swell with delight and she bounced on her toes, “How wonderful! Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Louis flushed a deep scarlet as he whipped around so fast he nearly fell into a stack of books behind him. Nevertheless undaunted, he had mastered himself by the time he had turned back around to place short pile of books before her.

Belle seized the one she’d specially ordered and opened it immediately. 

“It has pictures!!!” she shrieked, half ecstatic and half mortified, but her hands didn't stop turning the pages rapidly even under the eyes of the very uncomfortable Louis.

It took her a moment to recall herself to any semblance of propriety and she slammed the book closed with a brilliant blush flooding her cheeks. Privately though, she couldn't wait to show Rumple.

Louis coughed, “The others, aren't quite so, how to phrase it, particular in their intended audience, but I’m told the stories won't fail to please. I haven't read them.”

He added the last hastily.

Smiling again, unable to help it, Belle stuffed her hand into her pouch for one of the spools of gold she had brought with her. She pressed the entire thing into Louis’s hands gleefully. Now that she had free rein with it, Belle loved few things more than grossly overpaying the town's people with Rumple’s gold.

She bit her lip in total glee, shoved the books in her bag and dashed out the door. She definitely needed to clean out the bakery of Rumple’s favorites before she hurried back to him.

She was halfway across the square when she felt a thump on her back and the world went black.

***

As his red smoke faded in front of his eyes, Rumple looked instantly to the table expecting to see tea things and his smiling, well, not so much his maid anymore, and not his wife either since he had made her no such offer. Nor should he, of course. But he hadn't mistaken the hour and had planned to return at tea time to present her with the exotic flower he had acquired on his trip.

Hadn’t he told her when he planned to be home?

He had. He was sure of it.

He tapped into the spell he’d left in place in an attempt to find her in the castle. Nothing.

A tiny push of energy extended the spell to the castle grounds and surrounding gardens. Sometimes she liked to go for walks and now a days she would take him with her as often as not if he let her.

Still nothing.

Rumple frowned, shrugged and cast a keeping over the still dew-fresh bloom, suspending it above the table in a glass bell-jar. That way if she returned before he did, she’d surely see it.

The village square was dead. No one stirred. Smoke rose from chimney’s so he knew the village not abandoned, but the stillness, the silence, was eerie.

He turned in a full circle. Market stalls were empty. No horses tied up outside shops, no wagons waiting to be loaded. No children, or stray toys. Something was very wrong here.

A feeling like a cold stone lodged in his belly, heavy and uncomfortable. Belle was missing and the town was, well, hiding, he thought. Sort of.

A flicker of movement caught his eye and he saw Louis the bookseller throw his chamber pot out the side door into the gutter and then dash back inside. Rumple wrinkled his nose and pursued him.

The door to the shop was locked, but that didn't bother Rumple and he strode inside, eyes seeking the bald and jolly little man. He knew Louis was a friend to Belle, so he was as good a place to start looking as any.

Without preamble or regard for the man frozen in terror at his sudden entry through a locked door, Rumple said simply, “Have you seen Belle?”

Louis’s face crumpled and tears started.

“Speak.” Rumple drew the word in a voice just above a growl.

But the pale and sweating man on the verge of tears couldn't, like his throat was blocked and his tongue had glued his mouth shut.

“Fine.” Rumple stalked toward him snatching a dreamcatcher out of the air in a whipping motion.

He grabbed the appallingly moist and trembling git by the scruff and pointed the man’s eyes at the dreamcatcher.

Louis let out a choked sob, but the images began.

His radiant Belle smiling her dazzling smile as she left this shop.

Through the shop window, Rumplestiltskin saw she had a light spring in her step, like she was happy. Rumplestiltskin’s heart began rushing in response to her obvious jubilation.

Then an arrow whizzed through the air, slammed into her back, and sent her sprawling to the ground. Not three heartbeats later, hooves pounded outside the shop and one of three riders hopped down long enough to tie a rope around her wrist, leap back onto his horse, and secure the rope to his pommel before leaving a small dark stain on the dusty earth where drag marks began as they galloped away trailing the body.

The painful grunt of protest had come from himself, but he needn’t have worried because Louis was sobbing so loudly he would never have noticed the Dark One’s raw pain and sheer panic.

There was no point in shaking the fool and demanding if he was sure this was what had happened. He couldn't have lied, not through a dreamcatcher. He blinked at tears and couldn't swallow in a closed off throat.

He dropped Louis and the man crumpled into a boneless heap at his feet, crying loudly.

Rumplestiltskin envied him. But he had no time to lose. He dashed out into the street to the exact spot where he had seen the bloodstain and drag marks.

But it had clearly rained and the hot trail he had hoped for was nowhere to be found.

He pressed his palm into the earth seeking traces of anything that wasn't dirt, not water, not stone… but nothing. Blood was a powerful marker, a magic stain as much as a physical one, but even it could be washed away.

Rumplestiltskin only considered the picture he must have made, hands and face in the dirt, rump in the air, clawing at the ground when a voice made him startle.

“We found this,” it was the bookseller and he was holding out Belle’s leather bag, “down the road in the direction they dragged her. Thought you might want it when you came, came looking.”

Louis had composed himself, Rumplestiltskin had to credit him, and he stood, stiffly, holding out the bag to the Dark One. Courage was respectable. And said Dark One probably had a face full of dust and muddy tear tracks. From how his throat felt, he may have been screaming, but he could not recall just now.

There was no dignified way to pick himself out of the dirt and pretend it had never happened, so he simply stood and snatched the bag from Louis’s outstretched hand. 

After a moment of kneading the supple leather, he made himself speak, flat and steady: “Show me where you found this.”

Louis licked his lips and nodded. Then he set off for the opposite edge of town.

Curtains were parted in many windows and Rumplestiltskin saw many faces looking down as they passed. In those faces he saw fear as he expected, but also grief. He knew Belle had been befriending the town, but he hadn't realized the depth of these relationships. The trail was a full three days old, but Louis had ventured outside after an enraged Dark One to offer him assistance.

“You will find them, and get justice for our Lady Belle?” Louis was speaking to him, softly, but nonetheless.

“There is no justice for this. But they will pay as will whomever put them up to it.” Rumplestiltskin growled his answer.

“If we can help, we will.” The man was squeaking, like he couldn't believe he’d just agreed to associate with the Dark One.

Rumplestiltskin made some effort to moderate his tone. “Assistance will not go unappreciated.”

Emboldened, Louis continued, “She was a light in our lives, you know. Everyone loved her. We were afraid at first, but someone so lovely is impossible to fear for long. She, uh,” he swallowed and paused a long time. So long Rumplestiltskin thought he didn't mean to continue until he did, “I think she loved you. We didn't understand it, but a generous spirit like that, well, I suppose she’d be generous, even to you. I mean, I didn't mean, well-”

“Yes, even to me and I certainly never deserved it. No point in denying the truth, dearie. I’m the Dark One and as reprehensible as they come. Belle was a flicker of light in an ocean of darkness. And I failed her. I should never have let her leave the castle alone. Not ever.” Inside, Rumplestiltskin felt himself cracking apart, deep quaking under his skin, his world shattering in slow motion.

“Was she your wife?” Louis’s voice was so quiet, he almost didn't hear the question.

“No, no I wouldn't shackle her with that.”

They walked in silence into the woods outside of town until Louis stopped and pointed at strip of cloth tied to a bush. “We found it here. He then pointed to a rock in the road, there. I don't know how much more help we can be, it rained, and it’s been days. Lita went up to the castle straight away after it happened, mind you, but there was no answer.”

“I’ve only just returned. Why didn't you call my name, immediately? That could have done some good!” Rumplestiltskin rounded on the man suddenly with a hiss.

“Everyone knows that anyone who calls the Dark One’s name has misfortune follow them for the rest of their days. She was dead, if not from the arrow instantly, then from the dragging.” Louis began to cry unabashedly. “It was horrible! Who would do such a thing to her? They obviously came for her in particular, and anyone who knew her knew she was nothing but kind.”

He had no answer for that that he could give the man so he shook his head, then slowly opened the bag.

An apple, old by now and bruised into rotting mush, some books, mussed from abuse, a handkerchief he had given her and a few of those bracelets she’d made from his wool. Why he hadn't thought to make her one himself, was beyond him and he’d never forgive himself for that oversight.

Then a thought struck him. There was no gold thread in the bag. None.

“How much did she give you for the books?” Rumplestiltskin stared deeply into Louis’s eyes suddenly.

He blinked and gulped. “Far too much, Dark One. As always, far too much.”

“Everything she had with her? Did you see?” he insisted.

“Er, no. Not everything. She goes to Marka, the baker, after she trades with me, almost always and she was,” here he had to swallow, “on her way there when, when they shot her.”

“You’re certain she had more gold thread with her when she left you?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” He could track his own magic. It might already have been traded away, but the ruffians had been masked so he couldn't describe them, but no one would find thread of gold unremarkable. He could find them now. And kill them. He murmured, “She was worth so much more than gold.”

And he disappeared leaving Louis standing in the road alone.


	10. Chapter 10

Storybrooke:

Mr. Gold didn't understand what had been happening to him over the past week. Belle came to his shop every afternoon, at first because she was clearly detoxing, but after the first few days, it seemed to be more for a lack of anywhere else to be. He did not understand that. Didn't she have friends? Anything else to do other than hang out with the likes of him?

And he certainly didn't understand why, after she arrived on the third day and he had given her a feather duster telling her that if she was going to be here, she may as well be useful, she had smiled brilliantly at him. She snatched it and proceeded to clean every visible surface in his shop over the course of the remaining four days.

Why did his heart skitter and leap when she walked in?

The last full day of her suspension arrived and still, Gold didn't expect to see his charge, but she showed up at eight o’clock a mere thirty minutes after he had flipped over the open sign.

“Good morning Mr. Gold!” She chirped at him like a bird and he thought of pushing her against the nearest glass case and-

He stirred in his trousers. “Good morning, Belle, how are you feeling? Were you able to stay sober again last night after dinner?”

“Yes I was!” Chipper and smiling and pleased with herself, like a bird preening bright plumage.

He thought back to holding her that awful first day after her father had come in. How her hands were soft. He was half hard and a dirty old man. Shame suffused him and she was pulling warm blueberry muffins, by the smell of them, from her bag and setting them out before him.

It was true that he had seen to her lunches and dinners since her suspension, so her bank balance was in better case than it would have been, provided she’d been honest with him about remaining sober.

He thought she had managed it. She talked about her cravings with him and she’d called him in the middle of the night more than once to get her through.

Lying in between his sheets with one hand stroking himself while he listened to her voice had been anything but a burden. Except to his conscience. He hoped she would continue to call him, even as she recovered, as he now thought she had a real chance of doing.

And when she didn't need him anymore? Not much would have changed, he told himself firmly. He’d be the same grumpy middle aged drunk he’d been before, if not more so. 

His eyes closed as he bit down on the buttery, warm, perfect sweetness of the muffin. Hot blueberries burst between his teeth in little spurts over his tongue. She must have asked Granny for the freshly baked ones, just from the oven and hurried over here as fast as she could.

“If I’d known how much you like blueberry muffins, I’d have done this long before now. But that’s ok. You open before I’m due at the sheriff’s station.” He opened his eyes and her eyes were gleaming.

“What?” Gold didn't know where this comment had come from.

“You were moaning with your eyes closed. I think that means you like what I brought you.” She teased in a low murmur.

But that’s not what Gold heard at first. He thought she said, “I think that means you like that I brought you.”

He flushed and promptly took another bite of his muffin to avoid having to say anything while he shifted his weight around the now raging bulge in his pants thankfully hidden by the counter.

He was not a teenager, damn it, and he could get ahold of this situation.

“You’ve found me out, I’m afraid, my secret pleasure.” Why the hell had he said that?!

If only he could escape to the back room and out to the restroom behind the shop, he could take the edge off at least. But no, she was looking at him intently, with heavily lidded eyes.

“I’m going to miss this, you know, coming here and digging through your treasures while I pretend to clean.” Her teasing wasn't helping his predicament.

“No pretense, Belle, the shop is cleaner than it has been since I can remember. Thank you,” he was aiming for courtly and polite while he chanted in his head the alcoholic’s prayers and liturgical nonsense he was forced to spout at those ne’er-do-wells in his charge. Anything to get his aching and heavy parts to subside. It didn't work. At all.

She sparkled those blue eyes at him and hummed appreciation over her own muffin. Then she stuck her fingers in her mouth to suck them clean one at a time. He was going to die, all over the floor in messy spurts of semen if she kept that up. Couldn't she use a napkin?

But then he was sucking on his own buttery digits and he half thrust against the counter before he could arrest the movement. What the hell was he going to do?

Thankfully, Belle, hopefully unknowingly, rescued him by finishing her breakfast and clearing away their meal. The second she turned her back, Gold turned away from the counter and said over his shoulder that he’d return shortly.

He made the best mad dash to the bathroom his cane would allow.

Inside with the door fully closed and locked he seized himself through his trousers unable to wait for relief even long enough to take them down first. He panted a long few moments just gripping himself before he struggled out of his garments, hung his suit jacket on the door and stared into the mirror while he began to stroke himself to completion.

It didn't take long. He had to clean the underside of the sink he had leaned on for support and was very grateful for the strong odor of the cleaning products to quickly dissipate the raw, organic smell of sex.

He cleaned the rest of the bathroom for good measure, hoping the thankless chore would keep his erstwhile anatomy at bay.

After scrupulously tending to his appearance, Gold returned to the shop only to panic anew.

Belle was shoulder deep in the cabinet he had been trying to keep her out of all week. A cold sweat broke out over the back of his neck.

At the sound of the door opening, she popped her head out to look at him, and to his complete surprise, she was smiling like nothing in the world was wrong. In fact, she carefully stepped back and placed a glass bell jar containing an exquisitely preserved flower on the table.

“Where did you get this?!” she exclaimed darting looks quickly between him and the flower.

“I can't quite recall, to be honest,” he aimed for bland, trying to get his racing heart to settle back down. He pushed the cabinet closed and stepped between her and it. “It is a magnificent specimen, preserved so well it could still be alive. I’d quite forgotten I had it.”

Belle’s hand roamed over the glass, eyes taking in every striking detail.

Inspiration struck, “I’d give it to you, if you’d have it.”

His voice sounded so shy, even to him.

Belle looked up at him in flabbergasted delight and her mouth worked adorably, her lip quivered and at last she said, “I couldn't. I mean, I love it and that you’d offer it to me is so moving, I just, I-”

He had moved before he could reconsider. He covered her hand with his own, stroking the soft fingers where they splayed over the glass. “You can,” he murmured, “I want you to.”

He had to rerun the words over in his mind to be certain he hadn't said, “I want you,” on accident.

She blinked up at him and they were so close, like back in her apartment; his breathing became shallow and rapid. And her lip trembled as he watched, then she licked them. Just a darting of her tongue.

Gold desperately tried to get a hold of himself to keep from kissing her right then and there. It was good thing he had just taken care of matters in the restroom because if he hadn't, he felt relatively certain he would have at least tried to kiss her.

And then her lips were darting up, his heart skipped a beat, and they were soft and warm on his cheek. A quick linger and gone.

His heart skittered back into rhythm again and his mouth parted of its own accord, eyes intently focused on hers.

She whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Gold, I never thought I would find a friend in you,” she was stepping back and picking up the glass jar to admire it, “A sweet and generous man behind that grouch of a landlord? I never would have known. Thank you for all the care you’ve shown me this past week. I won't forget it.”

“It’s no matter, really, consider it compensation for your work here this week.” A friend. Of course she wouldn't return his feelings. He knew he was far too old to even be thinking such thoughts about her. Nevertheless, his chest ached with this unhappy proclamation. At least he wasn't in danger of kissing her anymore.

That would have gotten him slapped if not charged with assault. His eyes stung, anyway and he blinked, turning away to close the open cabinet.

To his immense relief, the lower doors remained closed, and he would have known had she opened them.

“Do you want to take that home now, Belle?” he suggested hopefully.

“Oh,” she sounded hesitant for a moment, but then hurried on, “That’s a good idea. Something like this shouldn't be sitting out somewhere waiting to be knocked off by accident. I’ll just take it home and find a place for it.”

She didn't sound so chipper and she hurried from the shop with the flower.

The second the door closed behind her, Gold opened the lower cabinet and surveyed the contents, undisturbed. He fished the antique key from its hiding place and locked those doors before heaving a huge sigh of relief. He should have locked them after he was in there.

That afternoon, Graham came by.

Belle had returned and was rummaging through a drawer of trinkets with a polishing cloth in hand when he came in.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff, how may I help you?” Gold stepped around the counter from where he had been deep in his ledgers.

“I’m here to talk to Belle, actually,” her turned to her, “when you weren't at home I went to your father’s shop to see if maybe you had gone back to stay with him. He, uh, said I might find you here. Has Mr. Gold given you a job?”

Gold saw Belle fidget nervously with the sterling silver bud vase she was polishing and bit her lip before answering, “Not exactly. I, um, I just find it easier if I keep busy and he hasn't kicked me out yet.”

She laughed nervously, a hollow sound.

“And how have you been managing so far?” Graham did tend to be to the point.

“I’ve been successful with his help. He’s been so supportive, I don't think I could have done it without him, actually. I wanted to thank you for helping me see what I couldn't and now I know that I need to make amends to you, somehow. I don't know what that needs to be yet, but if you think of something, will you let me know?” If she sounded a little rushed, she could be forgiven. Making amends was one of the harder steps in the program and Belle was only beginning on that road.

Gold felt a surge of pride and it warmed his chest.

“You can start by showing up for work tomorrow. I have a hell of a time running the place without a deputy.” Graham had his back to Gold so he couldn't see his expression, but Belle’s eyes grew round.

“But I’m not a, I’m just your clerk, I can't-”

“You can now that you’re sober. You’re great at figuring things out, Belle, and you’re going to get even better at it with a clear head. I need the help and you can make amends to me by filling that position. It’s been empty too long.”

Gold could see the tears in Belle’s eyes. She nodded rapidly.


	11. Chapter 11

The Dark Castle:

He had followed the gold thread, tracked down her murderers and killed them. One of them had had an appalling lock of her hair as a trophy. It hadn't even been difficult. They and spent the gold extravagantly making themselves far richer than they knew how to behave. A proverbial beacon for him.

He had walked in a circle around the table in his great hall for an hour upon his return to the Dark Castle. Around and around staring that the flower he never got to give her stroking the ill-gotten lock of her hair. Finally, he cast a keeping on that too, bound the end with one of those bracelets she hadn't yet finished and a bit of his own gold thread. Finally, he hung it from a gold chain and tucked it beneath his clothing.

Not that it helped, but at least he had something of her with him always.

Then Rumplestiltskin sat down to drink. The queen came by, mumbled some false condolences over the loss of his maid, but Rumplestiltskin was too drunk to do more than grunt at her and then throw her out refusing whatever she had wanted.

She’d cast his curse whether he was sober or not and he meant not to be.

And so he wasn't, not for spans of longer than a few hours for a deal here and there anyway.

Until they threw him in his prison.

His curse kept him from dying, but it made going without drink no easier without access to his magic.

That left him to sit and wait. The boredom would have been enough to kill him and he not been the Dark One if the whiskey hadn’t been. Missing her consumed large portions of his thoughts. If he wasn't thinking about getting back to Bae, he was missing Belle.

Her death had been a senseless loss. Worse, he could have prevented it with a tiny amount of effort. Had he given her coins in reasonable amounts, she’d never have been a target for greedy land pirates. Completely his fault. The people he loved came to harm. He tainted everything.

That he had tried to give her up, tried to let her go did nothing to comfort him. She was gone. He had destroyed the only light in his life and now, when he saw Bae, he knew he would have to tell him what the price of magic had been for their reunion. Bae would be disgusted at his selfishness and want nothing to do with him.

He would be alone in the land without magic having achieved precisely nothing.

It was unbearable.

He only allowed himself to stroke the lock of her hair just briefly if a guard nodded off, but other than that small comfort, his mind did nothing but curdle in its own filth.

To entertain himself, he tittered and sang at the guards to make them as uncomfortable as he could, but even that grew dull as the months passed.

One evening, after a very productive afternoon of lying in the dirt flicking pebbles at the wall he felt a change in the air. He raised his head and sniffed at it.

Magic.

A lot of magic.

It was time.

Oh well.

He lay his head back in the dirt to wait. There were four more pebbles all lined up to be flicked and he sang to them softly, a struggling lullaby from long, long ago.

Until Regina appeared in a puff of purple smoke with a rat dangling from her fingertips by its tail. It squeaked with all its tiny might, which was surprisingly loud for such a small creature, waving its little legs and straining its neck in an attempt to get away.

Regina was smiling. “On your belly in the dirt suits you, Rumple, lizard that you are.”

“So you finally managed it. Tell me, are you proud of yourself, dearie?” He didn't bother picking his cheek up out of the dirt, in favor of flicking his eyes up to meet hers.

“Oh yes! Very proud indeed. I am proudest of all that I am about to make you suffer, that I, the Evil Queen have, once and for all, bested you, the mighty Dark One.” She jiggled the rat by its tail and it gave a fresh cry of alarm before continuing it’s wee bellows.

“If you think to bring me lower than I already am, Regina, I wish you luck.” Rumple returned his attention to the two pebbles still waiting in front of him.

He gave a startled squawk of alarm when a small weight landed on his back accompanied by resounding squeaks and the frantic scuttling of little feet. Before he could so much as roll over, the rat had leapt from his back and dashed toward his hand. The hand in question lay palm down in the dirt, fingers just coiled to flick the next pebble until the furry little beastie thrust its head and body into the shelter underneath his palm.

Regina was laughing. Great gales of laughter. “Aw, she missed you! Even after you completely failed to rescue her with your gross display of drunken stupidity and a truly astounding amount of incompetence. She must be something special.”

The rat had tucked itself entirely into his palm and he could feel it quivering there.

Her? It couldn't be-

But Regina was going on.

“But I’m not completely heartless, I’ll let you have this last hour together, knowing it will be your last. Not heartless, but definitely evil!” She positively cackled.

Magic swirled under his palm and then he was lying on top of a very warm, very solid and very alive Belle. And she was crying and shaking.

He ignored Regina’s departure rolling off Belle immediately. His eyes overflowed instantly and he had curled himself into a ball halfway before reaching out toward her in indecision.

Belle scrambled to her knees and then into his lap clutching at him.

“I knew there had to be a reason you didn't come for me! Oh, Rumple, what has she done to you?” Her hands were pushing his hair out of his face, smoothing down over his cheeks and she peered into his eyes, searching him for answers.

“She didn't do anything to me. She didn't have to. I did this to myself. And to you! Even if I was too stupid to see it. I’m so sorry, Belle, I’m so sorry! I thought you were dead. I should have looked harder, looked beyond the obvious, but I was so, so blind that I didn't even see what should have been plain as day.” He was crying messily even as she wiped away his tears.

“She kidnapped me, Rumple. Shut me up in a tower. Why did you think I was dead?”

Rumplestiltskin, though he knew he shouldn't, clutched her tightly in his arms, his forehead against hers. He breathed her in with every ragged sob, “Of course the dreamcatcher wouldn't show me magic, it could only show me what that bookseller remembered seeing. He saw you shot and dragged off. When I tried to follow, my locator spells all failed, every one. You were gone! Dead.”

“And she imprisoned you? Cast this horrible curse she’s been going on about?”

“Belle, you don't understand, sweetheart, all of this is my fault, my fault.”

“Shh, Rumple. No. She cast the curse, not you. But let's not spend hour last few minutes on blame or guilt. I’ve missed you so much!” Belle started pressing kisses over his nose and cheeks until he pressed his mouth to hers in a deep kiss.

She tasted of long privation, as, he was certain, did he, but it didn't matter, she was Belle. He began to harden immediately at he urgent stroking of her tongue and how she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth before diving back in for more. She was also busying herself with the laces of his clothing.

He snapped his fingers before feeling utterly foolish, nothing happened.

Fine, no matter.

Rumple grasped Belle’s backside through her meager dress and rubbed and kneaded while he pressed his already hard length against her. He needed his leather pants off desperately.

He rolled away from her and onto his back to pick at his laces urgently. She took this opportunity to stroke him through the leather and he howled. She moaned at the sound and wriggled out of her under things. With her dress hiked up around her waist and her hand rubbing over her sex, she watched him fight his laces with wide, dark eyes.

The second he was free, she was on him, so wet and so hot and she rubbed against him, groaning unabashedly. He cried out and she grasped him before impaling herself on him and sinking down to meet his hips.

She gave little sighing moans and rubbed her low belly as if trying to feel him through her own flesh. He wondered if she could. But soon enough her hips were rocking helplessly against his fitful thrusting and she seized his hands, shrieking as she clamped around him, riding out her pleasure. A second later he burst within her.

For awhile, they lay together just touching each other softly, not speaking. The curse roared audibly now.

Not much time now, he thought dully, but he was already stirring, hardening again. He surged toward her mouth, claiming it hungrily before he rolled them to be on top. With the pad of his thumb stroking down against her nub, she cried out, but he found her quite ready for him when he pushed against her entrance.

Able to thrust deeply and strongly from this vantage point, he did so, chanting aloud that he loved her with each stroke. He heard her returning his sentiments between sighs and groans. She had her legs clamped around his hips, with her hands clutching at his arms hard enough to cause pain. That only made him feel hotter, harder and his pace was already quickening. He flicked at her between her legs where they were joined and she spasmed around him once more for a long suspended moment before he felt himself exploding again.

And the curse washed over them.


	12. Chapter 12

For him, the week following Belle’s return to her job was an abysmal one.

Without her near constant presence, the reality of his life was all that kept him company.

And it did a poor job of it, for all that.

The shop was quiet, still. The chair across from him in his kitchen was empty. When he looked up to talk to someone, when had he ever had such a habit, there was no one there.

All of this was an exaggeration, he knew that, for she came in every morning like clockwork with a bag of warm muffins and a brilliant smile.

Yes, for twenty minutes, five days a week, he felt alive. She told him of her continued success in remaining sober, about going out on calls with Graham, about the self-defense training Graham was providing- a prelude, she said, to learning how to disarm and apprehend a suspect.

She’d stopped calling him in the middle of the night and he had woken up hard and weeping from his tip more nights than not.

It seemed she would get to leave the nightmare behind her, be one of the successful ones to kick the habit for good. Which meant she wouldn't need him anymore. She likely already didn't.

He sighed, it was getting late and he needed to close up an head over to the Rabbit Hole to inspect the repair work to the men’s restroom which was scheduled to be completed yesterday. Normal business hours had come and past, but the bar wasn't a normal business so what did it matter that he had dithered?

With a heavy sigh, he pulled on his coat and locked up behind him. The walk wasn't far and though the fall chill settled in in the evenings, it didn't yet bite him with the sharp teeth it would within a month’s time.

Dry leaves blew down the street and if he didn't have to walk with a cane, he’d have kicked at them like a child. For heaven’s sakes, he was sulking like one, so it would be fitting.

His grim expression got people out of his way though.

The cacophony inside the dimly lit establishment assaulted his fragile mood and broke it from fragile melancholy to downright pissed. The sooner this was done, the better.

The rank odor of booze helped nothing.

And then everything got worse.

A familiar laugh made it to his ears through the din and he followed it to its source with his gaze.

Will Scarlet and that mousy fellow Gus were leaning on the pool table on either side of Belle who was sipping from a beverage glass. As he started in their direction intent on he knew not what, Belle laughed again and ran her hand down Gus’s sleeve.

“Good evening, Mr. Gold.”

Louis, owner of the Rabbit Hole, startled him with a too bright smile and forced him away from the appalling spectacle he had meant to interrupt.

“Mr. Bonlivre, good evening.” Mr. Gold schooled his features and his tone to respond.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold, but the work isn't finished yet. Leroy assures me it will be by next week though. You can see the progress if you’d like?” Louis had his and spread in supplication.

So, more of his time wasted. He’d been wasting quite enough of it on Miss French, both as her sponsor, and otherwise it seemed. He’d confront her about the former later, after he’d had a chance to lick his wounds over the latter. 

“No need. What seems to be causing the delay this time?” Mr. Gold didn't bother to keep the ire from his tone.

Louis shriveled in on himself a bit further and squeaked out, “It’s the custom toilets, Mr. Gold. Special order part from Europe, some tiny country no-one’s heard of. Leroy swears it's on its way though. By next week, he promised.”

“I’m sure he did.” Mr. Gold turned on his heel and stormed out without another word.

The next day, like clockwork, Belle arrived with those same tired old muffins and phony smile. He asked her if she’d stayed sober and she’d enthusiastically said she had.

He didn’t press her on her lie. He had hoped for so much for her, hoped that her light was real, that she might shine it on him a little longer. But it’s brightness wasn't that of a summer’s day, but rather that of a car’s headlights just before it struck him down.

He was a poor conversation partner and she left earlier than usual.

Three days later she set the muffins on the counter and asked in a small voice, “Do you want me to stay?”

He hadn't looked at her, but kept busy with his rent ledger, “If you want to.”

And he’d only said that because he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. Not yet.

He had time enough to blink, it seemed to him, before he heard the shop door close behind her. In the bag were both muffins. He wrapped his hands around the bag, soaking in their warmth, while he put his nose over its entrance to inhale the sweet, buttery aroma. It would be his last opportunity to do so, he knew.

He was dreading tomorrow. He never dreaded rent day, but he would have to see her and take her money and he didn't want to. Take her money that was. Seeing her, that’s all he wanted, all he thought about.

But he was a dirty old lecher and if Gus could earn her smiles, he was a much better match for her.

Hell, if she chose Will Scarlet, she’d be doing better than she would be with him.

He could feel it. He was falling. Failing. Again.

It was never a surprise to him when this happened, it would always happen again and he barely resisted this time.

In fact he only closed his eyes for a brief moment before he curled the paper bag closed and left it on the counter.

He found the antique key easily and it released the lock with a satisfying snick.

Inside he found glass bottles, rows of them. And the chipped teacup he used for the purpose.

Mr. Gold grabbed the closest bottle of whiskey, the cup, and settled down on the cot to drink his way slowly through the bottle.

Night had fallen before anyone came in, alerting him to the fact distantly that he hadn't turned his sign to closed nor locked the door.

He was into the second bottle by now, having kept himself at the pleasant bleary state that existed between too aware and drooling, though passed-out was coming, he knew.

“No.” He knew her voice instantly.

He opened his eyes and her image swam before him. 

“Surprised, dearie?” He focused on her and saw that she had tears in her eyes. “You shouldn't be.”

“You’re a liar. How could you?”

“How could I what? Be exactly, exactly what I told you I was? A drunk? A monster?” He was trying to stare at her, but he kept blinking and it got in the way.

“I was leaning on you! I thought I could! I thought the program had worked for you, that you’d made it, that I could make it!” She sounded desperate and he wanted to respond but he couldn't figure out what to say in time. “This as been so hard these past few weeks, but I’ve stayed sober because I thought you were managing it. I thought you were so strong, so wise, but you’re not. You’re nothing but a hypocrite.”

She flopped down by his feet at the other end of the cot.

“I deny none of that,” he managed.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself? All that snide derision of Leroy, Will and the others? You don't have a leg to stand on!”

That stung and he jerked his lamed foot away from her reflexively. “Never said I did, I’m a crippled old man who binges uncontrollably whenever I get sad and whose liver won't last the decade. They’re just as pathetic though.”

“Wait, sad? You fell off the wagon because you were sad?”

“I didn't say, guess I did. Well I'd didn't mean to tell you that, so drop it.” He looked away from her and took another swig out of the bottle.

But he couldn't help but look back over the bottle as he swallowed some. She seemed to sit up straighter and gather her strength.

“Who is your sponsor?”

“Don't have one.”

“Ok then. You helped me be strong, so maybe I can try to help you. Why are you sad?”

He bristled, “Why would you knowing that help at all? It won't change anything.”

“How do you know?”

“‘Cause it won’t.”

She lunged for the bottle and though he tried to hold on to it, she took it away from him shamefully easily.

Without it to distract him he only had her to look at and he saw her lips wobble before she licked them. He saw her breath quicken and how her breasts made the ruffles of her shirt wrinkle and extend in a strange sort of hypnotic bellows. She noticed him staring at her chest.

“Oh that’s just great. Another damn Nottingham except I thought I could trust this one. I’m such a fool. You never gave a damn about helping me, you just wanted, oh I can't believe I fell for this!”

Gold couldn't even manage to feel particularly ashamed. He looked up to meet her eyes.

“‘S why I didn't ask you to stay this morning. I knew you’d never want to if you knew. Nottingham wouldn't have given a damn. Not that I expect that’d make a difference to you, still a dirty old monster.” Even to his own ears, his words were thick with drink. His accent probably wasn't helping her either.

Belle didn't say anything for a long time. Had she understood? Maybe not. Oh well, he wasn't going to repeat himself so he looked away.

“Is this why you’re sad?”

Drink-fueled rage and loneliness boiled over then and he lurched toward her, flopping to sort of sit up, “What else would it be? I thought you could make it, could escape this madness! But there you were in the Rabbit Hole and you’ve the nerve to call me a liar? Or did you just think I’d never know so there was no need to tell me? Or maybe you’re so very strong you could just handle it on your own? Unlike me? Or maybe Gus was there for you after, promising to help you stay sober after this, whispering sweetly while he held your hair?”

A line of drool fell out of his mouth and onto the blanket.

“Oh that’s just great. You’re disappointed in me and jealous to boot because of what you thought you saw? And you’re using that to justify this appalling state of yours? You could have asked me! Or, I don't know, come up to me when you saw me and offered me support, like a sponsor should have done. But you just decided to jump to conclusions and then do this to yourself, and me. You don't know me and I’ve spent the last two weeks confiding in you, trusting you, depending on you, clutching at you to keep me strong enough to do this. Do you have any idea how badly I want a drink right now?!”

Her shouting was really loud and he grabbed his aching head for a while before he said, “I can't help anyone. I told you I run that pathetic group of ne’er-do-wells because I have to. I can't even help myself.”

It sounded like she was crying, but he was drooling steadily on the blanket with his head still bowed.

In a voice thick with tears, she said, “Do you know why I came here tonight?”

“No idea,” he mumbled.

“I came here because I can’t pay the rent tomorrow and you said you’d help me, that you wouldn't make me homeless. Was that a lie too?”

With a groan he slid down sideways so lay back on the pillow, “Too much to hope for that you’d come for any other reason. Any other reason at all.”

He stared at the wall.

“Even if I had, you’d have been too absorbed in self-pity to notice. Look, I came to pawn my mother’s necklace. It should cover what I’m short, if you won't do anything more humane for me, will you at least do your job?”

“Fine, fine.”

The necklace she’d worn since he’d known her landed in front of his nose on the blanket. He snatched it to his chest, curled in on himself and shut his eyes.

He did hear the strident sob followed by the unmistakeable sound of bubbles replacing fluid in a bottle. He drifted off to the sound of piteous weeping.

It was early evening by the time Mr. Gold managed to finish his rounds and enter the inn. Mrs. Lucas and her granddaughter were there, but so was someone else. Someone he didn't know.

His head hurt violently.

“Swan, Emma Swan.”

He blinked, something cracked wide open in his mind and Rumple looked up, “Emma. What a lovely name.”

Rumple hastily concluded his transaction and hurried back out to his car. He couldn't drive away immediately because his hands were shaking too badly. Belle, Belle was alive, and she needed him. Bae was here, somewhere. His child, needed him. Lost, alone, in a strange land so alien to the one he grew up in. He didn't have a moment to lose.

He was no longer cursed and he had a deal to keep.

But he couldn't leave Belle defenseless, even if she surely wanted nothing to do with that travesty of a man Regina had created in Mr. Gold. He could earn his way back to Belle and help her through the last vestiges of the curse once he had Bae.

A plan formed as he drove.

A day later, Belle hadn't returned to the shop. He knew she didn't want to see him. She likely had her hands full with Emma anyway, as she’d been arrested, again.

With a locator potion tucked in his pocket and his bags packed, Rumple slammed the trunk. One stop to make and then he’d be away. With his own part of the curse lifted, he could leave town and find Bae.

He had picked exactly the right moment.

Regina’s beloved tree was in shambles, sawdust and apples everywhere. The Queen-Mayor herself looked about as unruffled.

“Well, well, well.” Rumple was smiling.

Regina wasn't, “What do you want?”

“Safety and comfort for Belle, please.”

He watched with glee as the curse took hold of her tongue and she nearly choked. Recovering she rasped, “You’re awake!”

“You always were a smart woman, your majesty.” Rumple snagged an apple off the tree. “Now, I have a little errand to run and you’re going to allow me to do it, please. And while I am gone, should Belle need anything, make the slightest request or need care of any sort, you will provide it to her, do what she even hints that she wants, whatever she says, as if she were me, please. I expect her to be comfortable and supported in every way so that when I return, she is in perfect health. When I return and break the curse, we will have another conversation, please.”

Regina was glaring at him, teeth bared, “How did you do it?”

“Not telling. But you didn't really think I’d allow myself to be imprisoned with no escape, did you?” He tsk-ed. “I also expect my business and home interests to be properly tended while I’m gone, please. Nothing amiss upon my return. Until then.”

“Don't you dare walk away from me! The curse will stop you! You can't just leave!”

But Rumple was walking away and just for good measure, he through the half eaten apple back over his shoulder. If it hit her, so much the better.

Ten minutes later, he sailed effortlessly over the town line in the comfort of his Cadillac following his son’s trail.


	13. Chapter 13

Storybrooke:

Belle felt terrible.

Hospitals were noisy places that never slept and she felt like she’d been run through a washing machine and then tumble dried, emphasis on the dried. The IV line in her forearm was taking care of that, she knew, since she couldn't keep anything down yet in spite of the anti-vomiting drugs they said they gave her, but feeling better couldn't happen fast enough.

She knew she’d fallen off the wagon. Hard.

Belle had never been a binge drinker before, but losing all respect for the man she’d been clinging to for dear life and her mother’s necklace in one night after two weeks worth of gnawing, aching desire for just one drink to help her settle had resulted in her predicament now.

She remembered Mr. Gold, laying there rumpled and matted on his cot reeking of the whiskey he’d kept her from finding. Oh yes, she knew now he’d given her the flower to distract her from where she’d been about to start snooping in her pretext of cleaning his shop. She knew because the cabinet had been wide open with a stockpile of at least two dozen bottles of mostly whiskey.

Her world had caved in when she saw him. He looked so small, like a child all dressed up in his father’s clothes and very sick in bed. Vulnerable. A helpless heap of the man she had thought was tougher than she felt.

But he wasn't. He wasn't what she’d hoped he’d be.

And it was true. He’d told her under no uncertain terms that he was an alcoholic. But somehow she hadn't believed it. The always together, always in possession of himself Mr. Gold couldn't be so weak as all that. But he was.

And then Belle had given up. And she had snuggled in beside his passed-out form and drank until she couldn't anymore. Then, then what? Had she dozed off? Had she left him there? Had she woken him up and slept with him? Or rather woken him up and had sex with him?

That seemed unlikely, but she knew she preferred that explanation to reality. At least he was someone she knew.

What had Belle feeling worse than any case of alcohol poisoning was what they had told her when she woke up.

Found in an alley by Leroy on his way home from the Rabbit Hole. Outside Mr. Gold’s shop. Passed-out and dying of booze.

And the worst:

The rape kit showed evidence of voluntary sexual activity. Appeared non-violent, consensual, likely with in hours of having been found. Date of last menstrual period? Chances of conception- twenty five percent.

She lay on her side with her arms wrapped around her middle. What would she do? Abort? Carry a baby to term and then give it up for adoption? Could she imagine a child of hers with Henry’s lost and sad look? Could she possibly raise a child by herself on a clerk’s salary?

Graham had of course responded to the call. He’d been here when she woke up, he and Dr. Whale had given her the news.

She’d cried and he’d stroked her hair. He’d even asked her what happened.

She’d told him most of what she could remember, leaving out the parts about wanting the unknown sexual partner to have been Mr. Gold. Maybe she hadn't had to say it though, because she’d said she’d been in the back of the shop sitting on his bed with him, drinking like it was water.

Had she lost her job?

Graham had been silent a long time, then he said, “That wasn't a fair test and I know you’re an honest person, Belle. I shouldn't have relied on him. So, no, you keep your job, but not the promotion. You know I can't give you that now.”

She did know. But she also knew without a doubt, that she was done drinking. Especially if there was any chance of a child. She’d have been done, she knew, if all that had happened was the alcohol poisoning.

She’d had her last drink that night. Ever.

Four days later, a letter arrived from Mr. Gold:

Dear Belle,

I know you likely want nothing to do with me now and I cannot say I blame you in the least. My behavior was inexcusable and unforgivable. I truly and humbly apologize. Though, we both know what an apology from an addict is worth. 

I am out of town on business and I have not been able to return as soon as I planned. I may, in fact, be detained for an extended duration.

I know I haven't been the sponsor you deserve and I regret leaving you alone even as long as I have thus far, regardless of my recent behavior. I truly want what’s best for you and care deeply about your future happiness and success in getting sober. I know it may seem like nothing but more cheap talk after what I did, but it is my earnest hope that this trip may bring about the personal changes I have been struggling toward most of my life.

If I am successful, I hope you will see those changes in me and perhaps, in time, forgive me, though I know I don’t deserve it.

I fear you may never believe another word I say, but your wellbeing matters a great deal to me. Odd as it may sound, I left the mayor specific instructions to grant you whatever help you may need, no matter how small, or how large. Ask her and she will help you. 

I owe you a debt for my failures toward you and upon my return, I will make good on that debt. If I am for whatever reason unable to return, Mr. Dove has instructions to sign the deed to my home over to you to do with as you see fit.

If for any reason things change before I return, please call me immediately, but in the mean time, here is the phone number to my hotel room. Please call me when you get this, or when you can bare to speak to me. If you can't, I understand, but I will be waiting for your call nonetheless.

Yours,

Gold

Belle had to read the letter three times before she believed it was real, that she had understood it. Even so, it made no sense. Why would he think there was a chance he wasn't coming back? Why did this read like a will? A deep and unsettling fist of fear tightened around her innards and she worried about someone other than herself for the first time in several days.

It was early evening after work, but she hadn't even known Mr. Gold was gone because the shop had been open each and every day. That meant if she hurried, she might just catch Mr. Dove, who was the likely party tending it in Mr. Gold’s absence.

A tall man, a very tall man, stood behind the counter thumbing through ledgers and marking in them with careful precision. He looked up at the sound of the bell.

“Miss French, how may I help you?” His expression never changed, as if his face was stuck in one position, unable to emote at all and his voice was completely neutral.

“Mr. Dove, good evening. I’m here about your employer. He sent me this letter and I just, well, I wonder if you could, um confirm it’s authenticity for me.” Belle held the folded paper out to him.

He took it, scanned the contents briefly and handed it back, all without the slightest change in his professionally courteous if disinterested expression, “I can confirm that it’s contents match a letter I received and that the handwriting matches that of Mr. Gold. Does that suffice?”

She had half hoped he would say something else, anything else, express concern for his employer, his understanding for the strangeness of the missive. Something! 

“I guess,” Belle faltered, “um, it’s just a little bit strange, don't you think? Why should he even consider giving me his house?”

“Should his business prevent him from returning to Storybrooke, his home would sit vacant and unused. He thought to see it cared for by someone. You are the only other person aside from myself for whom Mr. Gold cares and I have a home already. You are the logical choice.” Mr. Dove seemed bored with the conversation, and as if she should have puzzled this out for herself.

“Oh. I see. I guess so. Um, thank you!” With that Belle fled the shop.

At least Mr. Dove seemed to think that it would be business preventing Mr. Gold’s return and not something more disturbing as she had begun to imagine.

With that settled and with the stiff October breeze sweeping down the street, Belle took a moment to feel angry all over again. Though now it was more disappointment. If Mr. Gold could have been the man he pretended to be on the surface, around her at least, Belle thought she might have wanted him for a friend.

No, that was nonsense.

She had thought he cared for her, and would be there for her, and would be reliable and steady and actually helpful. He’d made her believe he was all of those things and it had been a facade, a thin veneer of respectability covering up a sad, drunken, middle-aged man who stared at her chest. A lot like Nottingham. She shouldn't have trusted the charm. Not for a minute.

Being attracted to him was pure folly and her own naïveté.

So much for that. He’d betrayed her trust and then skipped town when she most could have used the support. At least Graham had been there for her. She didn't know what she would have done without him.

***

It didn't matter how many times she reread the instructions on the box in hopes of having misinterpreted the results, those results didn't change. Not on repeat testing and not when she showed up in Whale’s office for an exam and a blood test.

Of course she was pregnant. She’d had a seventy-five percent chance of dodging the bullet, but that hadn't been enough and now she had to decide what to do.

At one day past when her period should have arrived she’d peed on a stick. And many thereafter. All with the same result.

She’d cried. She’d denied. She’d panicked. She’d brewed endless pots of tea.

Still pregnant.

She thought of the crumpled piece of paper with a telephone number on it in the corner of her bedroom, on the floor behind the dresser. Not quite out of reach, but out of site at least.

No. He would be less than no help.

And who the hell did he think he was kidding about asking the Mayor for anything? That woman was terrifying and she was no legendary Emma Swan with a chainsaw.

Oh yes. Emma was a force to be reckoned with and Belle felt a distinct surge of glee every time she pulled one over on the mayor. Even if Graham had hired her into the position that should have been Belle’s, Belle couldn't bring herself to be resentful. The woman showed up with bear-claws and bad-ass boots.

Mousy and rather geeky Belle French couldn't wear a red leather jacket, but she really, really did like the idea of leather. Just not on her.

In any case, never in a million years would she ask the mayor for anything. Belle just planned to fly under the radar of their increasingly hostile and unpredictable mayor.

Two months had gone by since that positive pee stick day and her clothes were starting to become an issue.

And Belle hadn't told anyone. Graham had continued to be supportive of her sobriety and with the added incentive, she had been entirely successful. And it felt somehow easier than she’d thought, almost like the pressure, the need, had begun to ebb, fade a little, just enough that it wasn't a hair ripping struggle not to pick up the bottle again.

She supposed the baby helped motivate her too. If she thought about it, perhaps her desire to remain sober had been among her reasons for keeping the baby.

Once the terror had subsided a little, Belle felt something else stirring in her heart. Hope. She had a chance here. If she could stay sober for this baby long enough for it to be born healthy and whole, she could stay sober forever. She could build a life for the two of them away from addiction, away from her father’s condemnation and censure. His certainty that she would never amount to anything.

She would amount to something: this child’s mother who loved it and cared for it and gave it the best damned childhood she possibly could.

Emma may have had something to do with her decision as well. Belle saw how she looked at Henry, the longing, the grief, the anxiousness. The guilt.

And Henry’s earnest little face, so hopeful, so bright.

Belle’s hand crept often to her belly under her desk during the day when no one was looking.

She wasn't alone anymore, and she liked that.

What she didn't like was being sick all the time and trying to hide that was difficult at best. Thankfully, Graham and Emma were seemingly too wrapped up in each other to pay her much mind. She’d seen Graham kiss Emma on the street last night and neither one of them had been into the office today to see her going to the bathroom to pee and/or throw up every half an hour or so.

Thankfully, she had a good book waiting at home.

It was nearly nine in the evening when the phone rang.

“Belle! I need you, can you get down here? Graham, he’s, I can’t wake him and he’s not breathing, I called nine-one-one and there coming, but I need help, can you get here now?” Emma was crying.

Belle was so shocked she said nothing while her heart began racing and all she could manage was, “I’ll be right there.”

The ambulance passed her on the sidewalk half a block from the station.

They were doing CPR when she came in, but not for long.

Belle went immediately to Emma and pulled her into her arms. The taller woman held her back and they both cried.

Belle dimly remembered his body leaving, covered in a sheet. She clung to Emma, and Emma to her while their sobs turned into sniffles and eventually they were quiet.

Emma let go first, “Granny’s? I know you don't drink, but I need something. Hot chocolate if you want. I’m buying.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Belle responded numbly and followed her out.

They hunkered over their mugs side by side at the counter with the sweet, rich aroma of chocolate with cinnamon bathing their faces. Belle didn't care too much for the cinnamon in hers, but she said nothing about it.

“Tell me about him?” Emma asked softly after a while.

Granny and Ruby were both perched on stools to Belle’s other side and she could smell that their chocolate had had some augmentation. It didn't really bother her, for a change.

“He cared about me. Really cared. He was well within his rights to fire me, many times over, but he never gave up on me. He was there, after the last time.” Belle couldn't continue and her hand dropped to her middle.

Emma noticed immediately. “Is it his? Did he know?”

Belle shut her eyes feeling the intent gazes of all three women on her and heard the soft intake of breath from Ruby and her grandmother. She hadn't meant to do that, but she was so tired, so sad that she’d not even thought about it.

“No, it's not his. And he probably knew, though I hadn't told him. I don't know who the father is. I was so drunk I don't remember.” Confessing this felt oddly good, like a weight lifting from her shoulders. “I fell off the wagon and the next thing I knew, Graham was there with me in the hospital telling me that I’d had voluntary sex with someone while I was drunk. Whale said there was a twenty-five percent chance of conception and I am so unlucky, I couldn't even beat those odds. Graham was good to me, supported me in every way he could. I should have told him as soon as I knew. But I feel so ashamed. So embarrassed.”

There were hands on her back, rubbing circles, from either side.

Granny said, “But you’ve been doing real good lately, haven't you?”

“I’ve been sober since. I think the baby is helping me with that.”

“Good for you,” Ruby murmured. “Look, you don't have to be alone in this. I know Graham’s gone, but we’re here.”

“And maybe, if it's a boy, you could name it Graham.” Emma sniffed softly and leaned her head on Belle’s shoulder as she hugged her around the waist.

“I like that,” Belle whispered, then she yawned.

“Oh,” Granny said gently, “I bet you’re exhausted. I know sleep might seem impossible right now, but why don't you let Ruby drive you home and tuck you in at least?”

Ruby did just that, but Belle lay there under the covers with her hand on her abdomen feeling its firmness. Nothing was showing yet, but just there, under her skin, she could feel that something was different.

The tears didn't seem to want to stop. They just kept on in a slow leak.

Unbidden her thoughts went to the crumpled up piece of paper in that dusty corner. Mr. Gold had told her to call, that he was waiting for her call, to call if anything changed. She hadn't had any idea what he could mean by that, but this seemed like a pretty big change, among other big changes. Like the clock tower working and Emma riding herd on the mayor.

And this little person, of course.

She rolled out of bed, flicked on the light and retrieved his letter. Even his ending salutation was odd. His departure was change enough in this sleepy little town.

She swayed from foot to foot, one hand resting just below her belly button and the other gripping his letter as she reread it again.

It took ten minutes before she reached a decision and dialed the phone.

Belle waited.

There was a click and then the three tones of doom, “We’re sorry, the number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please hang up and try your call again.”

Belle dropped the phone to the floor along with the letters before bursting out into a fresh fit of sobbing. Of course it was too good to be true.

What had she really expected from him?


	14. Chapter 14

New York:

She hadn't called and neither had Bae. Rumple had sent them both letters, heartfelt letters, in hopes of rekindling what was lost. Neither wanted aught to do with him.

Bae had run from him, flat out ran away down the street, but Gold knew where he lived now and had written him every day. In each letter he told his son of how sorry he was, of how he wanted to make it up to him, how if he’d agree to just one conversation, Gold would leave him in peace if that’s what he truly wanted. He told Bae of the centuries of effort just for the chance to apologize, to tell him he was wrong, and most importantly, to tell him how much he loved him.

No reply, no phone call, no one waiting in the lobby of his hotel when he stepped in out of the rain with something called a bagel for breakfast.

No matter. He would wait. Forever, if that’s how long it took and he died here in this hotel an old and broken man.

Mr. Gold sat down at the small table in his hotel room to write another letter to his son. And wait for Belle to call him.


	15. Chapter 15

Storybrooke:

It was hard to say which piece of news the town talked about more, Graham’s death or Belle’s pregnancy.

It took two weeks for her father to show up at the station.

Belle and Emma were sorting through Graham’s files with their heads together when he startled them both saying: “Killing your mother wasn't enough shame, now you go get yourself knocked up and I had to hear about it at the Rabbit Hole when someone called me Grandpa. My disappointment in you grows, like morning glory. There’s always more.”

Moe French was looming in the door way, red faced and snarling.

Belle took a step back from him a hand wrapping around her middle before she could think better of it.

“Of course it's true. Why did I even hope? So who’s the baby-daddy?”

“I have no idea.” Belle said firmly, gathering herself.

“Oh that’s perfect-!”

Emma cut Moe off, “What do you mean Belle killed her mother?”

Emma didn't sound like she believed it, not exactly, but Emma would pick up on that turn of phrase, of course she would.

Belle answered hastily before her father could do any more damage, “I didn't kill her, not like that anyway. She died in a car accident years ago. I got drunk at a party and called her, like she always told me to do if I got in trouble, but it was icy and there was another car spinning out of control. It hit the driver’s side and she died.”

Belle hunched over herself, now with both arms wrapped around her midsection.

“And you blame your kid for that? You’re a real piece of work, Mr. French. No wonder she developed a drinking problem with how supportive and mature a father you are. Was there something you needed from the sheriff’s office or do you need to leave, right now.” It wasn't a question and Emma had edged herself between Belle and Moe.

“Just wanted confirmation of what new lows to expect from my daughter, I’ll be on my way.” And thankfully, he left.

Belle hadn't noticed the tears until Emma handed her a tissue and grumbled, “I don't like that guy.”

“Me neither,” Belle mumbled through her tears.

Belle hefted a stack of files and took them back to her desk to sort.

“Well hello, Belle!” The sickly sweet sound of the mayor’s voice cut through her concentration and she looked up. Sidney Glass was with her and he looked ill.

“Madam Mayor,” Emma answered before Belle could and strode out of her office. “To what do we owe the displeasure?”

“Belle, I’d like you to meet the new sheriff, Sidney Glass.” Mayor Mills ignored Emma entirely at first before she said offhandedly, “Miss Swan you may pack your things and be on your way.”

“With all due respect, Madam Mayor,” Belle stood to face her, “Emma became sheriff this morning and you don’t have the authority to simply replace her. I read the town charter. You can appoint a candidate and force an election, but that’s not what this town needs right now. Emma is well qualified, better qualified- no offense intended, Mr. Glass- and the town learning of your attempt to install a new sheriff with no regard for the law will not endear the town to your candidate, should you decide to appoint one after all.”

Belle’s insides were shaking, when had she ever had the courage to stand up to anyone in such a way, let alone the mayor? How had she managed with her father just minutes ago? Pregnancy hormones?

But the mayor wasn't saying anything, or rather it looked like she was trying to, but her mouth kept opening and closing, much like a fish. And she was slowly turning purple.

Emma took the opportunity she was handed. “And rest assured, Madam Mayor, that I will run for this office, if I have to. I won't let you sully Graham’s good work with one of your puppets.”

The mayor seemed to catch her breath at last and all she said was, “Good day, Sheriff Swan.”

She turned on her stylish heels and left, newspaper man trailing after, and if Belle didn't miss her guess, feeling quite relieved.

Emma turned to Belle, “I guess I'm really staying now. I mean I knew I was before, but somehow, now it feels solid. Real. And I will pry my son from her slimy hands.”

Belle rubbed her hands over her belly, “I know how you feel.”


	16. Chapter 16

New York:

Son,

I can wait another three, maybe four days before I must return to Storybrooke, at least for a little while. I’ve written to you of Belle, my True Love, and I can't leave her there unprotected past the end of the curse as I’m certain you understand. I wish I knew for certain that she is well now. I feel very anxious for her even with the safeguards I left in place for her protection. She doesn't remember me due to the curse and the cursed version of me she knows was a terrible excuse for a man who treated her badly and no one she would want to associate with further. Understandably. Regina made certain of that.

I also need to help Emma, the Savior, break the curse. Regina has her son, something else I mean to make right.

You could come with me. I realize going to a cursed town to fight the Evil Queen sounds less than enticing, but I need to pay the price of the magic it took to get me here by setting things to rights for everyone she cursed. You could be there to see me do it, Bae. We could be a family again. You and me and now Belle. I could prove to you that I’ve changed. That I’ve done everything I can to be the man you deserve.

I know you have your life here and that it may not be possible for you to come with me, but I hope at least when I bring Belle back with me, when she isn't cursed anymore, that you’ll be willing to meet her, even if you don't want to see me. I know how badly she wants to meet you and that you will love her instantly. She’s very special, you’ll see.

I love you very much, my son, and I will return.

Your Papa

Rumple folded the paper and put it in the addressed envelope. Since time was short, he would hand deliver this today instead of waiting for it to go through the postal service. Maybe he would be lucky enough to put it into Bae’s hands directly if he saw him.

He didn't.

He returned to his hotel with a heavy heart to pack his things and wait. Just a few more days. He could wait a few more days.

He’d had a little more than four months to get to know New York and while he found the city loud, stinky, cluttered, crowded and dirty, it did have some more positive attributes as well. The museums for example. The universities for another. He’d had to buy a new suitcase just for the books he’d purchased for Belle. He’d bought her clothing as well, unable to help himself when he passed a shop window and, for just a moment, he’d seen her standing in one of the designer dresses instead of a creepy mannequin.

He was rechecking one of these garment bags when a knock at the door startled him. He’d finished with room service an hour ago.

Then his heart leapt into his throat, pounding so hard he thought it meant to drub him to death from the inside. Shaking, he made his way to the door and didn't even look through the peephole for fear of losing his nerve before he opened it.

A man appearing closer to forty than thirty stood fidgeting, licking his lips and with an envelope crumpled in one hand.

“Bae?” A whisper so tiny, so hoarse it was a miracle the other man heard him.

A cough. 

“Papa?”

A soft whisper.

He never heard his cane hit the floor after he grabbed his son in his arms and hugged with all his might. He did not even care if the sobs were most definitely loud, ugly and nothing this world thought proper for a man. He held on and choked, “I love you, son. You came. You’re here. Finally. I’ve missed you. I love you so much. Bae!”

“Papa.” Was all he said, but he was holding him back and Rumple couldn't see through the tears in his eyes.

Overwhelmed, he only realized his son was trying to get him inside the hotel room when his cane was pressed into his hands and Bae nudged him gently between the shoulder blades.

“Papa-”

“Baelfire-”

“Uh, I go by Neal now.”

“Oh, of course, of course, will you sit down? I can order us something. What would you like?” Rumple was fumbling and he knew it, but he was shaking so badly he couldn't seem to stop.

Bae, no Neal, sat down on the other bed and looked around at the organized chaos of his packing endeavors.

“I’m still angry. But I got your letters. I guess, I guess I’ve wanted second chances too. So this is yours. Start talking.” Neal looked at him levelly, not giving an inch.

“I don't expect forgiveness, not for what I did to your for what you must have gone through, growing up alone in a strange land. There is no forgiveness for that. I had thought to try to make it up to you somehow, but that’s impossible. You must have been so scared. There are no excuses, son. I could tell you the reasons, pathetic as they are, if you want to hear them. But mostly, I just wanted the chance to look you in the eye and tell you how sorry I am. How much I love you. How if I had it to do again, I’d come with you. Be the man you deserve. Whatever else you might grant me beyond hearing those few words, is more than I deserve.”

Rumple jaw trembled as he came to the end of what he’d been rehearing all these months. He was certain Neal could tell he’d planned those words, stilted and awkward as they were. He’d leave and that would be all Rumple would ever have with his son ever again, but at least he’d said it.

“I would like to hear you say it. Papa. I would like to hear you tell me why you did it, why you left me alone.” He sounded angry.

Rightly so.

Rumple closed his eyes, unable to look at his son as he spoke, “I panicked. I was so afraid of losing the power that it blinded me. In that moment, when I lost myself to fear, I also lost myself to the darkness and I, I,” he choked on his tears anew, “I let go of the single most important thing in my life. The second you were gone,” he opened his eyes and stared through the haze of tears at his son, “I knew I had made the worst mistake I would ever make in my life. That I would do anything to get you back, to keep our bargain. To be the man, the father, you deserved. I let you go because I was too weak to fight my own fear.”

“You were a coward.”

“Yes I was.”

“Papa, I read your letters, about how you got here. You destroyed the lives of everyone in an entire town because you felt guilty. Tell me how that is you being the man I deserve.” Neal looked like he’d been offered a lemon at a used car lot.

“I will be once I help Emma break the curse and she brings back the happy endings. Including, I hope, yours and mine and Belle’s.” Rumple leaned toward his son, sitting on the edge of the opposite bed.

“Ah, so twenty-eight years of their suffering is fine by you so long as you get what you want because you can ‘fix it.’ Papa, you’re still using people to get what you want.” He sounded exhausted, defeated.

“I’m not certain it works that way, son. Seeing the future is a tricky business. I saw what would happen, that I would create the curse and that Regina would cast it, but I am not necessarily the architect of the scheme to create a Savior in Emma. I just saw that it would happen and that all of that would bring me to where you were. She may have other purposes which I haven't seen. I am the Dark One, not a god.” Saying so made him feel much less in control, but it sounded true to his feelings on the subject. Had it been his imagination or had his son tensed slightly every time he said Emma’s name?

“And now you want me to go back to this cursed town with you, and what? Join the good fight? That doesn't sound very Dark One of you. And I’ll be honest, the thought of you having found True Love seems pretty far fetched.” Neal’s shoulders were slumped and he was looking at the floor.

“Then perhaps meeting Belle is just what will help convince you that I’m trying. In truth, I started trying to do better for her, back before the curse. I never thought I would love again, but Belle brought light back into my life and I am trying so hard to ensure her happiness. It’s why I have to return. Emma could probably break the curse on her own, but Belle would be in danger from the Queen again.” Rumple implored.

“Alright. I’ll come with you.”

The cane thumped on the carpet when he dropped it in surprise, “You will?”

“Yeah. You’ve come a long way trying to keep your bargain with me, so I’ll check out this Storybrooke and maybe help you if I can. That way I’ll see what kind of man you really are, maybe through this True Love of yours.” Neal snorted, “But honestly, Papa? I suspect you’re who you always were and are running a scheme of some sort. I’ll see that too and then I’ll know what to do.”

“That’s fair, son. More than fair. And more than I deserve,” Rumple whispered.

Abruptly, Neal stood. “Fine. Fine. I’ll pack my things and meet you here tomorrow at eight. Ok?”

Rumple scrambled for his cane to follow his son who was striding toward the door already. “More than ok, I can't wait to see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Uh huh. Tomorrow.” And Neal slammed the door before Rumple could get half way to it.

So he stopped walking and stood there trying to process what had just happened. His son had come. The sole purpose of his life up until now had just been fulfilled and he would see him again tomorrow. It had been almost too easy. It had been too easy, but Rumple didn't care.

He had tears streaming down his face and his heart felt lighter than he could ever remembering it feeling. He shoved everything else into bags willy-nilly and then spent the night barely sleeping. He lay on his back smiling at the ceiling instead.


	17. Chapter 17

Storybrooke:

“Let’s catch dinner before I take you home, we can visit Belle tomorrow at her work. But please, she doesn't remember me, the real me, so if you could just be patient until the curse breaks-” Rumple stopped dead as he looked across the diner from the back entrance where they had come in.

Perched on a stool at the bar sat Belle, down there on the corner. Will sat to her left and Gus, to her right, had a hand rubbing up and down her back. She had a half smile, on her face. Almost like she’d choked on her food after he’d told her a joke.

She had a hand wrapped around her-

Rumple spluttered and gasped for air.

Belle was pregnant. Obviously pregnant. Had been for a long time by the looks of things. Of course on her tiny frame anything would show, but an obvious curve interrupted her normally slender form at her waist. How far along was she? He couldn't tell. But the kind smile on Gus’s was a hint if ever he’d spied one-

“Papa? Papa!” Neal was gripping his shoulders and trying to get his attention.

“What?” Rumple gasped out. His face was wet and he was panicking.

“What’s happened, Papa?”

He was about to answer when Gus suddenly met his eyes and the young man’s surprise cued Belle to look over.

All the color drained from her face and her hand tightened around her midsection. A second later she was down off the stool and striding, well, halfway between striding and a waddling, toward him.

“Belle!” Rumple gasped out and he dimly registered quiet descending on the diner as the spectacle unfolded.

“Oh no, eyes up here!” she shouted at him as she approached, “You are the worst sponsor in the history of sponsors and you have the nerve to judge me? You left me alone to deal with this! You and your disconnected phone number and your insincere letter. I don't even know where to begin, except that I want to slap you.”

“You tried to call me? I waited for your call. Everyday, I waited! It must have been-”

“Yeah, I got desperate enough to call you. I’m not proud of it, but Graham died and I was so alone, and the number you gave didn't even work!” Belle wasn't yelling, but her emphatic tone left no doubts about her rage.

“Graham is dead?” Rumple gasped trying to catch his breath after too many shocks so close together.

“Yeah! He died and I hadn't even told him yet. Now I never can.” Belle’s eyes filled and she looked away for a moment.

“He’s the father then.” Curiously, something eased in Rumple’s chest, if it had to be someone other than him, he would have chosen Graham. “I’m so sorry, Belle. I gave you that number in good faith, it should have worked-”

She cut him off then, “Graham’s not the father. I don't know who the father is thanks to my black-out binge courtesy of your lies. No one has come forward; and the hospital said it appeared voluntary so I must have been awake when it happened, but I guess I’ll never know.”

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered and he reached for her shoulder, meaning to comfort her.

She batted his hand away, “No. What are you thinking? You show up after abandoning me months ago, after betraying my trust, and you’re crying about it? Just who do you think you are that you get to act hurt by this? What right could you possibly have to feel anything other than guilty? And don't tell me these are tears of guilt, because I’ll never believe a word of it.”

“I do feel guilty! I know you don't believe me, but seeing your pain is agony for me! I care for you, I always have, regardless,” he trailed off and looked away. Neal was watching them with very round eyes.

“Do you even remember that night? You never gave me any money for what I pawned, you know.”

Rumple reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace he’d given her so many years ago now. He ran it between his fingers for a moment before he cautiously held it out to her. “You owe me nothing and I owe you debt after debt that I can never repay.”

Belle reached slowly for the necklace and took it. Then she looked up at him, met his eye, and he saw doubt in her expression. Like everything she’d been so certain of was being called into question.

“Why did you leave?” she whispered.

Rumple hesitated, “This is my son, -”

“Neal?!” Emma said a she herded Henry through the front door of the diner ahead of her.

“Emma.” His son confirmed beside him and the bottom dropped out.

“Emma? Who’s he?” Henry was a perceptive lad.

“You know her?” Rumple heard himself say trying not to look away from Belle, who had turned at Emma’s arrival, but needing to see his son’s face.

“How old are you?” Neal looked totally focused on Henry now and Rumple’s heart started pounding in his chest. It couldn't be.

“Don't answer that, Henry.” Emma sounded desperate, even afraid. Rumple’s belly twisted and lurched.

“I’m ten!” Henry blurted, “Now someone tell me what’s going on!”

Neal strode toward Emma and Henry, tense and as if drawn by gravity, Rumple stepped beside Belle who had turned around and wrapped her arms around her belly.

“Is this. My. Son.” Not really a question by now and the droop of Emma’s expression told him everything he needed to know. Rumple let go of his breath in a whoosh. He had a grandson.

“Emma?” Little Henry’s piping voice. “My dad was a fireman, he died!”

Silence from Emma, but her eyes were closed now and her lower lip shook slightly.

“Emma.” Neal whispered.

“Yes, he’s your son.”

“Why did you lie to me?” Henry was yelling, then his little face crumpled and he ran out the door.

Both Emma and Neal pursued him.

Rumple looked back down at the floor, overwhelmed and oddly elated at the same time. He had a grandson!

“Mr. Gold?” Belle was looking at him.

“I have a grandson.” Probably not what he should have said, but he couldn't bury the small smile. “I found my son and I have a grandson.”

Murmurs and the clink of silverware on china rose back up around them. Belle hadn’t moved from beside him yet, she was looking down at herself a hand stroking the swell of her abdomen.

“I’m never going to get that,” Belle said softly, “That moment of knowing who fathered this baby. He’d have come forward by now if he wanted anything to do with me or his child. Perhaps it's for the best. This little one won't go through what Henry has because I’ll be here for it, always.”

“You will make up for any failing of your child’s father I’m absolutely certain. You look well, better than well. Have you, have you been able to, to stay away from alcohol?” Rumple didn't want to ask, but he needed desperately to know the answer. Even though the baby wasn't his, after the curse broke, he and Belle would raise it together. And if he could break the curse in time, he could heal what damage there might be from the booze before its birth.

He thought the question might anger her, but she only nodded. “It’s been easier, since I met Emma. I haven't had any and while I miss it, it isn't this howling hungry maw demanding to be fed anymore. But I don't feel all that well, I’m still sick a lot and I’m sore and still so exhausted even though the books say that should have faded by now.”

“Belle,” he whispered, “I’m trying to be the man I should be. For my son, for you, for that little person now too, because I owe all of you.” He let out a long sigh. “Look, you can't stay in that dump I rent to you with a baby on the way. You need a proper home. Let me start making it up to you by finding you someplace decent to live?”

After a long pause, “My income hasn't increased, you know.”

“You won't be paying rent to me ever again, no matter where you live. That should help.”

Belle turned to stare at him, “Why? I just don’t understand why you’d even make such an offer when we both know you’re anything but reliable.”

“Sometimes it isn't about succeeding, it's just about doing better. I can't pretend to be a perfect, or even a good man, but I can keep trying, for my son, for you. I hurt you, I’ve done little but make your life difficult. Let me at least try to make it up to you. Please.”

She looked down at his cane and he followed her gaze, but ended up staring at the way her dress spread out over the baby under it. Maybe it wouldn't matter that it wasn't his, the child might even, no, would definitely be better off for not being his. It wouldn't inherit his baggage the same way his flesh and blood would.

“How. How would you do that?” Belle’s voice was small and she knew he was staring at her belly again.

“I’ll send Mr. Dove along with some movers to pack your things. There’s a little house just down the block from me which is available. I’ve been using it to store inventory for the shop, but there are plenty of warehouses for the purpose. We can have you settled within three days.”

“I want a signed contract. Something that will hold up in court that says I get to live there, rent free, indefinitely. Your word isn't all that much good anymore.” 

“You’ll have it on your desk tomorrow morning.”


	18. Chapter 18

The following evening, he knocked on the mayor’s door.

Regina looked like she was ready to murder him on the spot.

“I’m here to pick up my grandson for a family dinner, please,” Rumple said without preamble.

“How dare you! You knew this would happen! You wanted this, all of this!”

“Oh no, this I didn't see coming, believe it or not. Send him on down. Oh, and you’re not invited. By and by we will discuss Belle’s pregnancy and exactly how that happened as I suspect she’s been pregnant since before the curse, before you brought her to me. I do hope you can remember which of your guards you set on her so I can kill him, before I kill you.” Rumple grinned with absolute malice.

“I had nothing to do with that, I swear it. You have to believe me. Henry!” Regina shouted unable to put off the compulsion of the curse any longer.

He heard the thunder of Henry’s feet on the stairs and growled, “And you better hope that baby is born healthy, or your death will take years. This kind of evil goes beyond anything I have ever even dreamed of and it will not go unanswered.”

Regina was shaking as Henry rushed past her.

“Hi, Grandpa!”

Rumple smiled broadly, and genuinely, “Hey, Henry, you’re coming to my house for dinner tonight, how does that sound?”

“Great!” Henry bounded past him toward the car.

“You’re majesty.” Rumple mocked her, pretending to tug his forelock.

He had invited Belle to join them since her home was being packed up and moved but he didn't know if she would. Neal and Emma were leaning on opposite counters in his kitchen like stray cats when he ushered Henry in.

“Neal, Emma, I’m so glad you could make it. We should do this regularly,” Rumple declared, pleased beyond measure.

“Uh, yeah, thanks for the invitation, and for bringing Henry. How’d you get Regina to agree?” Emma pushed off the counter to hug her son.

“I asked, nicely.” Rumple smirked and began emptying his cabinets of what he would need to prepare their meal.

“That’s never worked for me.”

“Belle tells me you’re an excellent cook,” Neal interjected.

Rumple looked up at that and as if on cue, a toilet flushed from the hall bathroom. A moment later, Belle came into the kitchen and smiled weakly at him.

“You came.” Rumple had to restrain himself from taking her in his arms and kissing her soundly.

“Your son is persuasive. Said he wants to get to know me and with Emma here, it seemed things were unlikely to get out of hand.” Belle sat down in the chair she had occupied all those months ago and stroked over her abdomen. She did that a lot, he noticed.

He thought maybe she wanted this child regardless of its provenance. If he wasn't imagining it, the real Belle seemed to be poking out a little as the curse weakened.

“Hi, Belle!” Henry bounced over to her chair after having hugged Emma. “Does it move around in there?”

Belle’s eyebrows lifted affectionately, “Maybe, I keep thinking on occasion I might be feeling something, but it’s so tiny still I might be imagining it. Here.”

Belle took Henry’s hand and pressed it to the curve of her belly.

“I don't feel anything.”

“Well, does it feel like your tummy?” Belle answered.

Henry poked at himself with his other hand, then pressed on Belle a little bit more firmly, “No, mine’s pretty squishy.”

“Well then, you do feel something. Mostly it just feels firm and heavy to me, but sometimes there’s this tiny tickle and I wonder if that’s the first time I’ve felt my baby move or if it’s just gas. Do you get gas?” Belle was so patient with Henry and Rumple had tears in his eyes.

“Yeah, Mom gets mad at me when I toot at the table.”

Emma laughed, “She got mad when I did that in her office. Serves her right though, in my view. It's the least she deserves.”

Neal was laughing too and Rumple swiped at his tears grateful everyone seemed to be looking elsewhere.

“Speaking of your mom, though, she actually tried to make peace today. Said that it was clear I wasn't going anywhere with your dad now in the picture, that she didn't like to see you hurt. She sent us dessert.” Emma pulled a plastic container from her bag and put it on the counter.

“Don't eat that!” Henry cried in alarm and lunged for what appeared to Rumple to be a pastry of some kind.

“Kid, relax, why not?” Emma frowned but remained unruffled.

“Because it’s cursed! She wants you gone and this is so her thing!”

“Henry, it’s not cursed! It’s an apple turnover, I saw her take it out of the oven!” Emma sounded exasperated, but both Rumple and Neal had started moving toward Henry.

“You have to believe! Fine I’ll prove it to you!” Henry sobbed and before either he or Neal could get there, Henry had taken a bite and slumped to the floor.

Belle gasped and dropped to her knees beside the fallen child. The other three adults converged on him as well.

She shook him gently, “What’s this curse he was talking about? Is he allergic to apples?”

Emma started dialing nine-one-one with one hand while shaking Henry’s other shoulder with the other.

Rumple drove everyone after the ambulance and they arrived at the same time the Regina did.

“That was supposed to put you to sleep!” She shouted at them.

“All magic comes with a price, your majesty.” Rumple growled at her.

“And Henry shouldn't have to pay it!”

“No, you should, but here we are, and by the looks of things, you may have just killed my grandson. Unless of course there was magic here.” Rumple was right in her face and enjoying every minute of her fear.

“You have some! You have it. Where is it?!” Regina demanded.

“This is crazy!” Belle said, but Rumple didn't worry about that for the moment.

“It is crazy!” Emma interjected between Rumple and Regina, “but at this point, if you have something that can help, Gold, hand it over.”

Rumple smiled at her, “I’m afraid it’s not that easy. Your friend in the basement, Regina? She’s guarding it.”

“So go ask her for it!” Emma demanded of Regina.

“Oh, yes, that would be entertaining, but we don't have time for that.” Rumple sneered, “You, Miss Swan, need to go down there and get it from her. You’re gonna need a sword.”

Belle squeaked in alarm from behind him and he turned to her, “Will you stay here with Neal and Henry while we sort this out?”

“Yeah, hey Belle, I don't want to leave Henry alone, but I think I need to go with Emma on this one. Can you stay with him?” Neal sounded desperate and Rumple could relate, in spite of knowing how this would end.

With that decided, everyone turned to look at him expectantly.

Unable to resist, Rumple darted forward to press his lips to Belle’s forehead. He whispered, “Everything’s going to be fine, I promise!”

She looked stunned, but he was leading the group out of the hospital as quickly as he could.

As soon as Neal and Emma were headed down in the elevator, Rumple turned on Regina.

She saw his expression and took a step back immediately. She had good reason to be afraid.

“Sit in that chair and hold still, please.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Be quiet, please.” Then he began by duct taping her mouth. “Thank you. I’m getting everything I desire and then you are going to pay the price of magic, served up by me.”

And then they waited while he stared at her relentlessly thinking of all the pain and suffering her evil had caused and how best to visit it back upon her. She blinked and sweated. He smiled, just a little.

Of course he stopped the elevator short of it’s destination.

“We can climb up,” Emma insisted.

“You both need two hands to climb, you’d drop it. Just toss it up.”

She did. He smiled at her and then quickly left.

Neal began shouting in rage immediately. Regrettable, but he couldn't take the risk of anyone stopping him from healing Belle’s child. Henry would be fine, but Belle’s child was in real trouble if anyone prevented him from bringing the magic necessary to correct effects of twenty eight years of heavy drinking. Even if Belle hadn't had anything since Emma arrived. 

Neal would understand, he had to.

Rumple put the gas peddle to floor as often as he dared on his way out to the well in the woods. Finally there, he licked his lips thirstily and dropped the unstoppered vial into the deep water.

Mr. Gold might have been addicted to alcohol, but Rumple was addicted to magic. He shook as he drew it into his body after so long without. Different, but as potent as ever. He let out a long groan of relief.

Then he appeared in the hospital room in a cloud of smoke.

“Rumple?” The first person to see him was Belle, everyone else was otherwise occupied. Regina looked frightened and she was backing away from the bed where Neal an Emma were hugging a very much recovered Henry.

Then it dawned on him. She’d called him Rumple. The curse had broken while he was at the well.

“Rumple, I love you.” Her voice again. 

He appeared directly in front of her. “Yes, and I love you too.”

She pulled him into her arms and kissed him with an ardor he returned. He could feel her plump midsection against him and kissing her felt even better than the return of his magic.

“Belle,” he whispered when he parted, “let me see to the little one, please.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“You have seen what drink does to children, haven't you?” He had tears in his own eyes and voice he knew.

“Rumple, I haven't had a drop since that night. Whale says lots of babies are conceived while one or both parents are drunk and that they’re completely normal. It’s what happens after conception that counts.” But he could hear the uncertainty in her voice, her pleading.

“Belle, I think Regina set one of her guards on you before the curse. She’d have given you a memory potion of course, so you wouldn't remember it-”

“I’ve done many evil things in my life, but that I did not do. I had nothing to do with Belle’s condition.” Regina interrupted him and Rumple realized that everyone in the room was watching and listening. “From the looks of things when I left her in your cell, I’d say you are the likely culprit.”

Belle smiled, really smiled. Then she laughed and threw her arms around him, “Of course, of course it would have been you.” Then a look of dread replaced her smiles, “Yes, please, can you help our baby?”

Rumple closed his eyes, not wanting to take the relief from her and not wanting to dash the warmth in his chest at knowing she wanted a child from him, but he had to tell her. “Belle, this can't be my child, the spell, remember? I cannot give you a child until I remove it and it is still in place, even now. I’m so sorry!”

Her face crumpled, but she mastered herself quickly. “Will you, will you check anyway? Just to be sure it’s ok?”

He nodded.

Rumple put his hands on her belly and a warm glow seeped through her skin. His eyes fluttered closed as he searched with his magic, looking for the corruption of drink in the still tiny life within her. He left his hands where they were after the magic faded. Nothing, there was nothing the matter at all. Just the spark of new life growing in his True Love. Her belly felt warm under his hands and Rumple mourned that this child was not his. He wanted it, wanted to be a family with her. Wanted to marry her anyway, adopt this child as his regardless.

But he kept his thoughts to himself for the moment.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her, “There was nothing. The baby is fine, didn't need my help after all.” He reluctantly removed his hands and turned a hard stare on Regina, “Which is fortunate for you, because I would have visited the price of magic upon you directly, right now. Though, come to think of it, you need to pay for what you did to Belle. You are most definitely responsible for impregnating her without her consent because it happened when she couldn't give consent. You are guilty of kidnapping and imprisoning her and doing I know not what to her during that time. And you will pay, messily-”

“Rumple, no.” A hand on his arm drew his attention back to Belle. “I want to be with you. I want to raise this child with you near, even if it isn't yours, but I can't do that if you are going to fall back into old habits, of solving your problems with murder and revenge. Promise me, promise me you won't kill her and we can be together.”

“He hasn't changed, Belle, he went after magic and left Henry, his own grandson, to die. And if you think he did that only for you, you’re even more naive that I thought.” Neal growled.

“Henry was never in any danger!” Rumple snapped. “I foresaw that long ago, but this child was, or I thought it was, so I went to save the child. I didn't bring magic for me, or for revenge, I brought it for Belle and her child.”

“You can tell yourself that all you like, Papa, but you put me second to your power again! Belle, don't believe a word he says. He’ll only let you down.” Neal hugged Henry and Rumple noticed for the first time since he had arrived, that Emma was leaning on Neal.

“You can brush aside the truth if you like, Baelfire, but I am trying. Belle, I promise. I will not kill Regina.” He stroked her cheek, wanting to kiss her again, “You can choose whether you want to make a life with me or not, but I will continue to help you regardless. I did promise you forever and I will keep that promise. You will want for nothing, even if you don't choose me.” He swallowed hard, “I will always care for you. For both of you.”


	19. Chapter 19

Epilogue: twelve weeks later

They’d had their ups and downs, but Rumple had kept his word and Regina was still alive. Whether that was to the good or not, he couldn't say yet. 

Belle had come home with him after the curse had broken and the two of them had begun the long task of preparing his house for the arrival of Belle’s baby. It had taken time, and a lot of help from Belle, but Neal had begun to at least believe that his father loved Belle and the baby enough to put their needs before his own. The suspicion that he had seized magic more for himself than for them remained in his son’s eyes and it hurt because it was, of course, true. Alcohol no longer presented a challenge to either Belle or Rumple, but they both remembered what it had been like to suffer under that yoke. Rumple felt the pull of magic in much the same way, dark magic at least. Neal was right, Rumple remained an addict, but perhaps a recovering one.

Rumple doubted Neal would ever completely believe that Henry was never in any danger, he’d have never believed it were their places reversed, but Neal had stayed in town for Henry and, again thanks to Belle, had begun to forge a tentative relationship with his father. Rumple saw the way Neal watched him care for Belle and prepare for the baby. He thought maybe Neal’s own envy over this intense familial closeness tempted him into remaining on speaking terms, if only just at times.

It would get better, Belle insisted it would.

Rumple always got up in the morning before she did and this morning was no exception. The eggs were nearly ready, he’d put them in the pan the second he heard her stirring up stairs. He prepared the fresh fruit and loaded her omelette with vegetables and cheese before flipping it closed.

He had it on the plate by the time he heard her feet on the stairs.

They had mornings down to a fine science. Pregnancy hadn't been easy on Belle and in spite of the advancing weeks, she was still prone to being sick most days, though nowhere near as much as she had in the beginning she told him. The soreness and fatigue hadn't abated either but she continued to refuse magical assistance which he understood. He didn't want a price of magic on her child’s head either.

But this morning she came into the kitchen with a smile for him. She leaned back when she walked, to balance now and he thought she was adorable.

Once she was seated, he set her food in front of her before he kissed the top of her head and stroked her ever expanding belly. “Good morning.”

“Rumple, I had a thought this morning in the shower.”

“I usually benefit from those, do tell.” They may not have been able to engage in certain activities as often as he would have preferred, but they made the most of those times when she was feeling up to it.

She gave him a shy smile. “I think you are this child’s father.”

That brought him up short.

“Sweetheart, that spell is still in place, as I mentioned.” His heart squeezed painfully at her wishful thinking.

“Hear me out, Rumple. You said you used your magic to render your seed inert. Your words, correct?” She was rubbing a place where he suspected the baby had kicked her.

“Yes, that’s how it works.”

“Did you have access to your magic in that cell?” She stared him straight in the eye.

He froze. No, there had been no magic available to him in that cell. He remained cursed, but no spell he tried worked. He blinked.

She smiled, triumphant. “So I'm right! Rumple, I’m right!”

“Sweetheart, I want that to be true. But neither of us knows what happened to you during those hours between when you left me passed out in my shop and when you were found. Even if the spell wasn't working when we were together before the curse, that doesn't mean it was my seed that took root in the hours after Emma arrived. I want to hope, you’ve given me hope! But we don't know for sure.”

Why was she still smiling?

“But we can find out. And the chances are much better that you and I made this baby together out of love than that I found some random stranger in the middle of the night in a back alley, cursed and drunk or not.”

He couldn't help it, he smiled back at her. “I truly hope you’re right.”

***

Graham was snoozing on Rumple’s chest when Belle came back with the mail. Her belly still protruded from recent childbirth and she still waddled adorably. He loved her more than he knew how to say. 

She held up the envelope they’d been waiting for.

Rumple’s heart started pounding and he began to sweat.

He had told himself over and over not to get his hopes up, that it didn't matter, Graham was his son regardless because Belle wanted him to be. Nevertheless, his arms tightened around the baby and he kissed his downy head.

Belle saw his distress and sat down beside them. “Are you certain you want to know, Rumple? We don't have to open this. Not ever if we don't want to.”

“I love you,” he responded, “and I love Graham and nothing in any envelope anywhere can change that. I want you to know that, Belle. I think we should. I don't think having the question in the backs of our minds forever is good for us. Or for him.”

He had never felt braver than he had saying those words.

Belle leaned over and kissed him softly. “I think that’s wise.”

She took a deep breath and ripped open the envelope.

She didn't read it herself first, she held it between them where they both could see the results.

A clear match. Unequivocal.

Graham was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a lot of fun! I hope you've enjoyed it. So you know, I have taken to flipping a coin for the gender of children born into my fictional worlds. So when I wrote that if it was a boy, she might consider naming him after Graham, I didn't know at that point what would happen in the end of the story. When I got to the end, I flipped a coin and then wrote the ending. That delighted me. I loved getting the surprise. I think I will continue this practice. Thank you very much @imgilmoregirl for the inspiring prompt, I have spent many happy hours thanks to you.

**Author's Note:**

> @imgilmoregirl's prompt was: Dark Castle, angst, pregnancy, evil.
> 
> I do hope I've fulfilled your wishes and written for you something that satisfies. I have very much enjoyed getting to know you and look forward to our continued interactions on Tumblr, my dear!
> 
> Of note, some of you may be wondering why I wrote Curse!Belle as an alcoholic instead of simply writing Lacey. I thought long and hard about this one and it was originally going to be Lacey. But something happened. I realized that the character I loved who had fallen by the wayside wasn't Lacey, it was Belle. For me Lacey has a bad-girl undertone to her which Belle lacks, a sort of snarky, angry spite which didn't fit this tale. This tale was written about how someone who isn't a "bad girl" or a "ne'er-do-well" or a "misfit" can succumb to addiction without noticing what's happening. Belle never set out to be a drunk, not ever, but it happened like it can happen to anyone, not just "bad people." I felt strongly about this because I really think that addiction can happen to anyone, even without the stereotypical personality traits such as risky behaviors. In any event, I hope you've enjoyed this and that you'll find me on tumblr @theoneandonlylittlebird.


End file.
